


Playing House

by flashindie



Series: The Center and Circumference [3]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 144,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: “Well, you did get me this bed too,” Beth says, a little blissfully, letting her eyes slip shut as she falls down into her pillows, making Rio snort, and she feels more than sees the mattress dip beneath his weight, the heat radiating off his body as he crawls up over her. She blinks her eyes back open, looking up at him, and her heart almost stops at the way he’s looking down at her, his face soft and open, his eyes dark, and she exhales, her hand coming up to trace the newly shaved line of his beard.-Drabbles and ficlets set in The Center and Circumference universe (mostly based on tumblr prompts).





	1. Call Me Maybe

The surprise she feels when he doesn’t bring it up on the drive home only doubles when they get through dinner (spinach and ricotta gnocchi – something quick and easy – they hadn’t left the school until after five anyway, and gotten stuck in post-work traffic) without so much of a mention of it. By the time she’s tucking the kids into bed, she’s starting to think maybe she’s been unfair to him. They’re in a good place, she reminds herself, feeling a warm contentment uncurl in her chest at the thought as she leans down to kiss Emma goodnight. On the same wavelength, she thinks, and if he’s not bringing it up, he must feel it too.

She’s still thinking it as they stand beside each other at the sink of their en suite, Rio shaving and tidying up his beard, while Beth brushes her teeth, her eyes looking at him in the mirror, taking in the long line of his neck while he shaves, and god, she doesn’t think she’s ever wanted to bite it more.

She spits out her mouthful of toothpaste, rinsing the brush and then her mouth before turning sideways to face him, pushing her hip into the basin as she bites her lip, looks up at him through her lashes. Reaching over, she hooks a finger in the belt loop of his jeans, rocking sideways and Rio looks down at her lazily, lowering his razor down to the sink and splashing some water on his face to wash off the last of his shaving cream. 

“You ready for bed, mami?” he asks, voice raspy, and Beth grins, sidling a little closer to him.

“The kids are asleep,” she says, holding onto his belt loop a little tighter. She’s still not very good at this part – at touching him first, but she thinks maybe he doesn’t mind so much, seems so responsive to everything she does, and even now he tilts his hips towards her.

“Yeah?” he purrs, leaning over to push some of her hair, still damp from her shower, back behind her ear, and Beth is just starting to rise up on her tiptoes when he adds, “Don’t want to give your new friend a call first?”

Just like that, she tears her hand off his jeans, raising it instead to point a finger up at him, something hot and weirdly pleased snapping in her belly. She really does love the thought of them being on the same wavelength, but she also really, _really_ loves being right.

“I knew it,” she says. “I knew you weren’t going to be able to let it go.”

She pushes his hand away from her face, sinking back onto her feet and storming back into the bedroom.

Between the two of them, Dean, and Marcus’ mother, Laura, it had taken them a frustratingly long time to settle on a new school for the kids. She doesn’t think it had helped that they’d had the time after all, with both the kids’ old schools letting them stay until the end of the year, meaning they hadn’t really had to settle on a place until the holidays. A school holidays that had formed what Annie had taken to calling ‘The Unholy Union’ and everyone else ‘The Terrible Twosome’ in Jane and Marcus.

And hadn’t that started enough arguments in itself? Rio hasn’t exactly made any illusions over the fact that he holds Jane (and by proxy, Beth) personally responsible for the sudden nosedive in Marcus’ behaviour, but the thing was, it was kind of the both of them. Separately, they were capable of being as angelic as ever, but as soon as they were left alone together, Beth was washing about five different types of Annie’s glitter eyeshadow out of Buddy’s fur (and how had they even gotten hold of that?), and Rio was furiously trying to melt the glue holding his (very expensive) watch to the dining room chair leg (apparently they’d made it the clocktower in a particularly elaborate city they’d made for Jane’s stuffed animals and Marcus’ action figures).

It meant that, more than anything, Beth kind of felt bad for Mr. Nichols, the very sweet, very young second grade teacher who must’ve been some sort of evildoer in a past life to end up with both Jane and Marcus in his class. And so what, if maybe she’d hit a nice stride with the guy? It certainly made going in because Jane and Marcus had decided to paint their own mural on one of the bathroom walls or hidden a grasshopper in another boy’s backpack, a lot easier.

“He gave you his number,” Rio says, like it’s that simple, and Beth rolls her eyes.

“In case I wanted to talk to him about anything. Remember how Marcus and Jane, our children, are terrorising his class?”

Rio gives her a look at that, and Beth rolls her eyes, folding back the covers on the bed, smoothing down the sheets before she clambers in.

“So what you’re sayin’ is if it’s just me next time, he’s gonna be askin’ ‘bout my weekend and punchin’ my number into his cell too?”

“Maybe if you were a little friendlier,” she says, and Rio laughs, but it’s not a particularly amused one.

“Don’t play it like that, he wants to fuck you and you know it.”

“Oh my god,” Beth says, throwing up her hands. “You were right there! He knows I’m not available. If anything, I think he just thinks we’re bad parents, and he probably figures that I might be more open to his advice than the angry, tattooed guy sitting next to me who spends the meetings thinking up unusual and specific punishments for our kids instead of, you know, talking to the teacher about their behaviour.”

Rio scoffs at that, like he hadn’t responded to the backpack grasshopper incident by making the two of them catch every single one chewing its way through Beth’s herb garden. It had taken them well over an hour, and they’d both been teary and tired by the end of it (but also apologetic, and Beth can’t say it hadn’t been nice to have the bugs gone). 

“Besides, what does it matter if he does?” Beth says, gesturing widely around them, and Rio rocks his jaw, but doesn’t reply. Instead, he pulls off his shirt, heading to the corner to toss it into the laundry basket. “It’s not like I want to - - y’know, _go there_ with him.”

And she looks at Rio then, at the line of his toned body as he shoves off his jeans, irritation making him flex unconsciously, the muscles in his back shifting, and Beth can’t help but bite her lip. She blushes a little, tries to shake it from her face and then, before she can think anything else of it, adds:

“That’s what I keep _you_ around for.”

He does look at her at that, still bent over, stepping out of his jeans and pulling off his socks, until he’s just in his underwear when he stands back up.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Well, you did get me this bed too,” Beth says, a little blissfully, letting her eyes slip shut as she falls down into her pillows, making Rio snort, and she feels more than sees the mattress dip beneath his weight, the heat radiating off his body as he crawls up over her. She blinks her eyes back open, looking up at him, and her heart almost stops at the way he’s looking down at her, his face soft and open, his eyes dark, and she exhales, her hand coming up to trace the newly shaved line of his beard.

“You were jealous,” she tells him softly, and he shakes his head.

“Nah, he ain’t got nothin’.”

Beth laughs a little breathlessly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at how easily he can rewrite the last few hours, just keeps trailing her fingers across his jaw instead, thumb flicking over where his beard ends halfway down his neck, just above the bump of his Adam’s apple, and then she touches that too.

“You’ve got something,” she tells him, and he hums in agreement, lowering his head to kiss her.


	2. Tiny Dancer

He’s still reading through the last of what must be fifteen texts from Elizabeth (she’s gotta work late at the dealership, so he’s on parenting duty. It should be no big thing, and he really isn’t sure whether it’s some leftover bullshit from that dumbass ex of hers, or if she really does forget that he’s been a parent almost as long as she has, but she’s blowing up his phone like he’s ghosting her again) when he hears the crash from upstairs and the pounding of little feet on the floor above him.

Rocking his jaw, he glances down towards the dining room where Kenny and Danny are poring over their homework, both tilting their heads up at the sound, and Rio’s only just starting towards the stairs when he hears another set of feet running in the opposite direction and then a loud cry breaking through the quiet.

“You broke it!”

It’s enough to make him toss his phone (the non-work one) to Kenny, telling him to follow his mom’s instructions for dinner (and sure, Rio’s man enough to admit he’s not the best cook, but he knows how to throw a frozen pizza in the oven, Elizabeth, damn), and takes the stairs two at a time towards the kids’ rooms.

He’s not the sorta guy who likes to go into situations blind, but he’s also been around the traps long enough to know it’s best to keep expectations to a minimum, lest those notions get you sprung, but still. He can’t exactly say he’s surprised to see Marcus and Jane peering nervously out from behind the former’s bedroom door, while Emma’s neighbouring one sits wide open.

Sending an arched eyebrow back to Marcus and Jane, who quickly vanish, closing the door behind them, Rio steps into Emma’s room instead.

The theme thing still gets him, and Emma’s room in particular is an eyesore – all that sugar and spice shit – unicorn pillows and hanging fairy lights and a bright row of smilin’ Barbies, and Jesus, he didn’t even know they made pink glitter wall paint, but the sparkle catching his eye is unmistakable.

In the centre of it all is Emma, sitting on a pink fluffy rug, her musical jewellery box blown open beside her, and the second she sees him, she gives him those big, Bambi eyes that may as well be her mom’s. She holds out her hands towards him, and it’s only then that he sees the tiny porcelain ballerina from her music box, held as tenderly as a baby bird, and shit, he thinks, clocking the shattered legs of the thing, and the anxious red of Emma’s cheeks.

“I hate them,” she wails. “They break _everything_.”

And hell, he always figured she was the most astute of Elizabeth’s kids, but she gets no bonus points for realising her sister and Marcus have made a miniature demolition team. Crouching down in front of her, he looks at the ballerina in her hands, resisting the impulse to tear it from her grip and get rid of the thing – he’s had enough experience with shards of porcelain to know they’re a bitch to get out of cuts at the best of times after all.

“Lemme see,” he tells her, but Emma jerks her hands back to her chest, distrustful, like she knows what he’s thinking, and like he said – astute.

Before he can say anything else, a petulant voice sounds behind him:

“We didn’t mean to. We just wanted to put her in the show.”

He tears his eyes away from Emma long enough to look back at her open door, Jane and Marcus hovering there, Jane’s chin sticking up defiantly, while Marcus looks about ready to vanish back down the hallway at the first hint of reprimand. Rio gives them a distinctly unimpressed look.

“Are we talkin’ to you right now?” he asks, and he ain’t even all that mad, but it’s still enough to send the two of them bolting back down the hall to Marcus’ room. 

“Can you fix her?” Emma asks when he turns back towards her, holding her hands up, and he nudges slightly at the figurine, another sliver of porcelain crumbling off her hip. He sighs, looking up to meet Emma’s desperate look.

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he says, and Emma’s bottom lip quivers. She curls her fingers around the ballerina, clutching her in two hands at her chest, her breaths starting to come out faster, and he’s seen enough bouts of hysterics to know one when he sees it coming. Reaching over, he grabs Emma by the elbows, pulling her up against him and walking her over to her bed. He’s barely sat down before she collapses into tears against his chest, her little body wracked with sobs.

Rio sighs, scooting further back in her bed, shoving some of her unicorn cushions out of his way in the process. He’s not sure if it’s the movement, or the contact, but something he’s done seems to change her mood, the red of her cheeks spilling back across her neck in childish fury.

“I should break _their_ things,” she hisses through her tears, her forehead creasing in anger, and Rio hums, still shoving cushions off the bed (and damn, him and Elizabeth need to have a conversation about how much money she’s spending on ugly, decorative pillows).

“Yeah? You think so? That gonna get you your girl back?”

And sure, maybe he could’ve been a little more sensitive, he thinks, looking at her look up at him, the anger giving way to that wobbly bottom lip again, but she shakes her head _no_, and at least it steered her off the path she was heading down (and shit, she must get that from someone else in the family, because Rio doesn’t think anything he’s ever said has gotten Elizabeth to go where he’s wanted her to).

Lifting Emma out of his arms, he settles her back among the mountain of stuffed animals at the head of her bed (and more damn cushions), reaching down to uncurl her hands from where they’re still clenched tightly around the broken porcelain. She’s held onto her so tightly some of it has started to cut at her skin, and he frowns, thumbing at a few of the bigger shards. He wants to get the thing in the bin, clean her up, but from the look on her face, she ain’t quite there yet.

He sits back on the bed, looking over at her.

“You think they meant to break her?”

The question is enough to make Emma blink in surprise, her mouth hanging open as she looks across her room to the open bedroom door, and Rio follows his gaze, unsurprised to see Marcus and Jane’s heads duck out of sight, their fingers still curled around the frame. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, looking back at Emma instead. After a second, she looks back down at her hands, shaking her head.

“They’re playing circus and they wanted a dancer, and they said mine was the prettiest,” she squares her shoulders a little as she says it, proud almost, before that house of cards falls in on her. “And that the box was slippery.”

Rio glances back at the box, still hanging open on the floor of her bedroom, a mess of clip on earrings and plastic bangles spilling out of it. A few have been shoved back in, haphazard, and he doesn’t have to have heard it to know that it was Marcus and Jane, trying to fix it before Emma found them. He makes a production out of considering her words, turning them over thoughtfully – judge, juror, executioner, settling on a verdict.

He hums a little, before glancing back at Emma.

“Sounds like it was an accident, huh?”

And he might not have been surprised by much in all of this, but he is in the way that Emma stares back at him, her gaze steady even if her eyes are watery, and damn, he wonders if this is what Elizabeth means when she tells him she feels like she’s talkin’ to him half the time she’s talkin’ to Marcus. Emma sucks in a wet, still-teary breath.

“It’s not fair,” she whimpers, and Rio nods.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he agrees. “But y’know, when things that are important to you break, or when they get broken, it don’t take away the good times you did have with ‘em. And when you put the broken thing away,” or throw it out, he thinks dryly. “It leaves room for somethin’ else to have new good times with.”

Emma gives him a look, leaning back amongst a large, gold-sequined stuffed owl, like she isn’t quite sure she understands, and he shrugs.

“Look at me and your mama, yeah? Me and Marcus’ mom, we broke, and your mama and your dad, they broke too, right?”

Cautiously, Emma nods, and Rio holds out his hand, like this is an example.

“And ‘cos we did, it meant there was room for me and your mama, and all of us here, and this house, and I know Marcus ain’t your favourite person right now, but I know he loves havin’ all you guys for brothers and sisters. He got that ‘cause of somethin’ that broke.”

Emma tilts her head at that, her forehead furrowing thoughtfully as she looks at him before her gaze goes back down to the ballerina in her hands. She rocks her head to the other side, chews on her lip before she says:

“I like having a little brother.”

“See? Just like I said. And I know you love your girl there, but maybe she’s leavin’ room for somethin’ else too,” he leans forwards a bit, moving his hand to nudge her own, careful to look her in the eye as he says. “You mind if I take her?”

He’s sure she gets what he’s asking when a couple more tears streak down her face, but after a minute, she nods, letting Rio scrape the shards of porcelain from her hands. He shoves them as gently as he can into the pocket of his jeans, before grabbing Emma’s hands in its stead, carefully checking them over for any leftover shards, or any cut that might have broken through. When he finds none, he moves to get up, planning to get her downstairs to homework with her brothers while he deals with Jane and Marcus, but before he gets the chance, Emma is crawling back into his lap, wrapping her arms tight around his neck.

“I like having a you too,” she whispers, more than a little shyly, and Rio pauses, surprised, before he drops a hand to her head.

“Yeah?”

She nods against his shoulder, his hand brushing down her hair.

“You ain’t so bad,” he tells her, and she giggles into his shoulder leaning back and tapping her nose.

“I’m the best one,” she tells him conspiratorially, and when he hears Jane start yelling in the next room and the fire alarm go off downstairs in the kitchen, he thinks she’s probably right.

(Or, at least, he does until she insists on spending the next three nights in their bed mourning the damn thing, taking _his_ spot against Elizabeth’s chest, but that feels like a whole other thing.)


	3. Afterglow

There’s a sliver of light working its way beneath her heavy eyelids, making her wriggle down into the mattress, clench her eyes shut, try to steal away from the glare. It’s no good though – once she’s awake, she’s _awake_, the throbbing ache in her head only dulled by the heavy, bruising pain in her back, and she rolls slightly, swallows heavily, and instantly regrets it. The mothy taste of last night’s liquor sitting heavy on her limp tongue, her throat feeling scratchy even to the breath. 

With a moan, she turns over, pushing her face hard down into the mattress and blindly swinging an arm out, colliding with a clammy, naked body beside her. Beth frowns, peeling an eye open to see a long, leonine, torso that can only be Rio’s, and god, she clenches her eye shut again. The last time he’d caught her this hungover, it was after a girls’ night and Annie had _finally_ quit Fine & Frugal and maybe a few drinks had turned into a lot of drinks and maybe it had culminated in them burning Annie’s uniform in Beth and Rio’s fireplace. He’d spent the morning alternating between being a smug, annoying asshole, and flagrantly judgemental, and, at worst, both (“There’s testin’ limits and there’s ignorin’ ‘em, darlin’,” he’d said, standing at the foot of their bed, drinking some sort of horrible, healthy green smoothie, dressed for tennis with Gretchen. “You’re grown, you should know the difference.” She’d thrown a pillow at him, or tried to at least, and he’d only been more judgemental when she’d missed him by at least three feet). 

Only - - she blinks her eye back open to take him in - - only she remembers drinking with _him_ last night. 

As soon as she thinks it, the night comes back to her too quickly, memories flooding her aching head. They’d had a meeting with a potential new client, one Rio had been trying to land for longer than she thinks he admitted to – a woman for a change, Dr Nora Simmons, who ran a sleek women’s and family health clinic for those who could afford it, with a free outreach program for those who couldn’t. She’d wanted the cheap pills to use for both (charging the former to subsidise her costs on the latter), but she had little experience with crime, a distrust of men, and apparently had gotten cold feet the last time Rio had tried to make something work. 

It had been almost too easy for Beth to lean in and tell her about her friend’s daughter, her sister’s son, about the lives Nora could save, the ones she could _help_, in no small part because Beth believed it too. They’d closed it – _she’d_ closed it

And just - - 

They’d gotten home, and the kids had been at their respective Other Parents, and maybe Beth had been in the mood to celebrate, and for once Rio had raised his glass with her. 

A few glasses. 

A _lot_ of glasses. 

She sucks in another breath, finally opening her second eye and instantly regretting it when the room starts to spin. With a grimace, she raises her heavy arm again, dropping it this time on Rio’s chest, just to hear him grunt, and then peel his own matted eyelashes apart to look at her too. 

He looks completely awful, she thinks, a little more gleefully than she cares to admit. Sweaty and sunken eyed and his lips are weirdly red and it takes her a minute longer than it should to realise that it’s the remnants of her lipstick from the night before and then her back aches again and she’s flooded with a whole _different_ range of memories. 

Namely of falling on her ass on her way up the stairs towards their bedroom, giggling as she looked up at him from the step, her lip already bitten raw, and Rio just looking at her so - - so _contently_ and then so - - and god, even the thought makes her blush, but _lustfully_, and then he’d followed her down, latched onto her neck, fucked her there, the steps cutting into her back as she’d desperately clutched, one-handed, to the railing to try and give herself any control – and - - 

Well.

That explains her bruised and aching back. 

And who knew closing a big deal together was a huge turn on for both of them? (“Literally everyone,” Ruby will tell her later, sipping on a mug of hot coffee while Beth tries to peel herself off the couch to get her own off the side table. She’d never have told her, but Ruby had stopped by, and both Beth and Rio were just that wrecked, the evidence is there for anyone with eyes.) 

“I can’t move,” Beth says in lieu of good morning, her voice hoarse, and Rio just stares back at her, his forehead furrowing before he shifts, wincing a bit as he does. She lifts her arm just enough to drop it on his chest again. “Can you go put the kettle on? And get me some Advil?” 

When he just stares at her, Beth lets loose a whining noise, raising a foot high enough to push at his thigh with it, trying to shove him off the bed. 

“I’m not okay,” she cries. “I need coffee.” 

The next time she kicks at him, he yanks her by the ankle, pulling her leg up over his belly, closing his eyes again to go back to sleep. He moves his other hand to clutch at her thigh, holding her in place, and Beth whines again, self-pitying, as she flops onto her back again, and oh, god, that was a bad idea. It is not a time for yoga twists.

She looks up at him instead, taking him in, moving her hand to wedge between his neck and the pillow beneath it. She curls her hands up, cupping the back of his neck more out of habit than anything else. He makes a noise of irritation, looking back down at her, and it’s only then that she thinks she is probably at least 20% still drunk. 

“Rio,” she whispers, leaning over. “Look at me.” 

Rio makes a long, gravelly noise which might be words? She’s not so sure. Either way, she can’t make out any, and she sidles a little closer in the bed, her chest pressing into the side of his arm. 

“Rio,” she says again. “I might die without coffee.” 

“I don’t care,” he tells her, his voice little more than a rasp, and Beth opens her mouth, outraged. 

“I’m sorry, do you have a problem with me?” 

It’s enough to make him squint over at her, and then, too suddenly, push her off him, shoving her to the other side of the bed, and then attempting to roll over, only to hiss, and Beth just - - she _gasps_. 

Because there’s blood all over the sheets beneath him, and for a moment she thinks something terrible has happened only - - only then she sees his newly-revealed back and the blush finds her cheeks before she can stop it. Because he is _covered_ in fingernail scratches, the skin torn in many spots – one in particular deep enough to have made the bloodied sheet stick slightly to him, and Beth just - - 

“I should probably cut my nails.” 

It’s enough to make him snort, leaning away from her again, burying his head back in his pillow, his body relaxing back down into the bed, away from her. She watches him for a moment, and, before she can help it, reaches out to draw a line with the pad of her finger down one of the scratches, and he really must be hungover or still drunk, because he _shivers_. 

With a mild grin, she scoots a little closer, running a finger down another one, feeling him start to tense, and then a third. 

“Elizabeth,” he rasps back at her, and she keeps going, a fourth, then a fifth, and then a - - 

She yelps as he suddenly rolls over, shoving her onto her back in the bed and burying his face in her breasts like he’d just done the pillow, and he _bites_ one, a little harder than necessary, and when she kicks underneath him, he shoves one of his legs between hers. 

“Nooo,” she whines, because she really does want coffee and Advil, because her back hurts, because Rio is all post-sex-clammy still and a little bloody, and she hates that that has somehow pooled hot in her, but she kind of likes the fact that it has in him too, if his half hard cock against her hip is anything to go by. 

“No?” he asks, deliberately dragging his bottom lip against the swell of her breast as he lifts his head up to look at her, and she squints down at him, as if to say _touché_. 

“I want coffee after,” she tells him, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I want breakfast,” he replies. “Bacon, eggs.” He hums a little. “Those tomatoes you do with those herbs and shit.” 

“That is an uneven distribution of - - ” she gasps when his hand slips between her legs. “Of labour.” 

“You think?” 

“It’s me doing 70 to get 30,” she insists, her hand falling back to clasp the pillows as his thumb finds her clit.

“Hm,” he agrees. “How about we trade, yeah? I could do my 70 now?” 

She hums, biting her lip, writhing up off the bed, and he blinks up at her, amused, and god, he really does look like shit, she thinks with a grin, pushing him down. 

“Fine,” she says, settling back against the pillows. “I accept your terms.” 

And she really thinks she got the better end of the deal when he makes her come twice, first with his mouth and then with his cock and his fingers. 

Thinks it right until she’s pressing her forehead to the cool of the kitchen counter, bacon spitting too-loud in the pan on the stove as she tries to find the will to cut tomatoes, Rio sitting at their kitchen island, a shit eating grin on his face.


	4. Imagine Me and You

The whole thing starts with Ruby.

Or rather, it starts with Stan.

“Can you take the kids tomorrow night?”

Hooking her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder, Beth pulls open the oven door, grimacing when a swell of heat hits her chest. She reaches up, grabbing the potholder from the hook above the stove before pulling the baking dish from the oven with her right hand and lowering the temperature toggle with her left.

“Sure,” she says, dropping the dish to the counter and making quick work flipping the chicken, moving to grab the extra marinade from the fridge to re-baste. “Everything okay over there?”

It takes Stan a minute to reply, enough time for Beth to shift her weight, for the first bite of worry to sit like a bad taste in the back of her throat, but then Stan’s swearing lightly, a horn beeping in the background, and she realises he has her on speaker while he’s driving.

“Sorry, Beth, some asshole just cut me off. Apart from that, better than okay,” he says. “We’re just way overdue for a date night. Ain’t gonna lie, I got plans, but they start with you taking Sara and Lil’ Money out of the picture for a night.”

With a laugh, Beth spoons the garlic, thyme and olive oil mix across the chicken breasts, the movement making the phone slip a little at her shoulder. She’s still trying to manoeuvre it back into place when the backdoor clicks open and Rio slips through, his jeans grass-stained from roughhousing with the kids in the yard. Gesturing a little blindly at the phone with her spoon, Rio gets the hint, stepping easily over and nudging the phone up so she can re-hook it between her ear and her shoulder.

Mouthing a quick _thank you _to Rio, she spoons the last of the marinade onto the chicken and grabs the potholder again.

“What time do you want to bring them over?”

“Around three?” Stan asks. “If that’s not too early?”

Beth hums that it’s not, only to jump a little when she feels Rio’s hands find her hips, gently pulling her ass back against him. It’s enough to make her look out the back window at where the kids are all still playing an impromptu game of soccer, oblivious, but still - she tries to glower at Rio, but it’s impossible with her hands occupied and the set of her neck keeping her phone in place.

“Awesome, Beth, thanks. And don’t tell Ruby. I want it to be a surprise.”

Rio’s breath is warm on the long line of her bent neck as he somehow sidles in even closer behind her, enough she can feel the weight of him like a shadow at her back. Her own breath hitches as she tries to bat him off, but that only serves to make him push his nose into her hair and bite her neck _hard_.

“_Rio,_” she hisses, and he laughs against her skin, watching her flail uselessly with the spoon, not able to hide her neck with the way she has the phone hooked.

“Oookay, that seems like my cue to go,” Stan says, laughing awkwardly over the line. “I’ll drop the kids by then?”

“Sounds good,” Beth says, a little too loudly, before dropping both her phone and the spoon, spinning around in Rio’s arms intending to ring him out only for his lips to find hers in a kiss that’s anything but chaste.

***

Beth genuinely didn’t ever mind watching the kids, but the night proved especially fun – with Harry somehow turning the Unholy Union of Marcus and Jane into some sort of gentle, playful, well-behaved Divine Trinity (even if the irony of their extended game of cops and robbers had endlessly amused Rio and sort of mortified Beth), while Sara had helped Kenny finish off a school project before they’d spent the rest of the night lazing around on the floor of the family room watching _Star Wars_.

All in all, it was just any other couple of days, or, at least, it was until Ruby had practically floated through the front door mid-afternoon to pick them up, lost in a cloud of love and post-orgasmic bliss.

Stan had pulled out all the stops, Beth thinks, unable to quite contain her grin as Ruby waxed lyrical about the romantic picnic by the lake, the walk through town to an underground jazz bar, then back at home, where Stan had somehow unearthed the cassette they’d made for their wedding day and then made love to her on the living room floor.

“Definitely a Top Five date night,” Ruby enthuses with a happy sigh, leaning back into her stool at Beth and Rio’s kitchen island. “Maybe even Top Three. God, it felt like it was before we had kids.”

_And before Sara’s health had eaten up so much of their time for each other_, Beth knows. The transplant really had been a godsend for so many reasons, most of all, of course, for Sara, but not least of all either for the way it had let Stan and Ruby breathe again.

"_And _it was somehow below our date night budget,” Ruby adds, her grin only widening at the thought as she drinks the last of the coffee Beth had made her. “I’m going to have to pull out all the stops next time. Do you think the money he didn’t spend on his night is cash I can use for mine? He’s been dying to see the football all season. I think I’d be able to swing tickets for the two of us if I get his surplus.”

Beth hums a sound of agreement, and it seems to pull Ruby back to the moment, making her roll her eyes good-naturedly.

“Why am I even asking you? I don’t imagine you and gangfriend _have_ budgets when it comes to date night. He take you around the world in a hot air balloon yet?”

Even though Ruby’s tone is light and teasing, it’s still enough to make Beth roll her eyes, grabbing Ruby’s now-empty coffee mug from the bench and rinsing it along with her own, stacking them in the dishwasher.

“Oh, please,” Beth says, snorting. “Half the time he doesn’t even let me in his car.”

To be fair, that _half the time_ is generally when there’s a chance a rival gang could see her in it and tail her back to the house. Rio’s been more than a little clear that even though half the crime world already knows they’re screwing thanks to Dean and the dubby (“And y’know, their _eyes_,” Annie had told her once, holding up her hands when Beth had glared at her. “What? You guys are not subtle.”) that’s as much as he’s willing to let anyone know. 

It’s still weird though, she thinks, to have spent so long on the other side of his secrets, to now be a part of one of his biggest ones. He’s gone out of his way to keep their house under wraps, to the point he’s banned her from driving her minivan to meetings, getting her to always take a different car from the dealership, and often even leaving his own car at the warehouse if there was any hint of unrest or possibility of a tail.

“Come on, B. Dish. You can’t tell me that boy doesn’t know how to spoil a girl.”

It’s enough to make Beth laugh, wrinkling her nose a little as she grabs one of her cookbooks off the shelf, flipping through it to find something for the PTA meeting tomorrow night.

“We don’t really do that sort of thing,” she says, flipping through the ‘P’s’ and ‘Q’s’ to pause on a Rhubarb and Sour Cream Cake.

“Don’t what? Date?”

Beth glances up, shrugging again, and Ruby’s eyes widen dramatically.

“Never?”

It’s the disbelieving tone of her voice that makes Beth shift her weight a little, pushing her hip out as she drops her gaze back down to the recipe. _Rhubarb, oranges, brown sugar_. She thinks she has most of the ingredients.

“You’ve gotta make time for yourselves, B,” Ruby says gently, and Beth sighs, looking back up at Ruby, feeling herself grow defensive.

“We live together and we work together,” Beth says pointedly, then adds: “Plus we only have the kids half the time, remember? Honestly, we could probably do with a little less time to ourselves.”

Which isn’t untrue, Beth thinks, blushing lightly. She still has a dull ache between her legs from how well he’d gotten between them the night before, her jaw sore from how hard she’d clenched it shut to keep from making any noise, what with the houseful of children.

“Yeah, and what do you do when you don’t have the kids?” Ruby asks, eyebrow arched, tone loaded, and Beth’s blush only deepens.

“Mmhmm. Relationships need more than just great sex, B,” Ruby says, holding up her hands. “You should try it – date night – share an experience, spend some time together that doesn’t involve kids or work or housework or your vagina. There are a lot of ways to be intimate.”

Rolling her eyes, Beth turns the oven on to pre-heat, glancing back at Ruby.

“And I’m sure you and Stan have mastered every way.”

At Ruby’s shit-eating grin, Beth can’t help but laugh. 

***

The problem is that then Beth can’t _stop _thinking about it.

It’s not like her and Rio are exactly a conventional relationship, but - - well, he’d been the one to say it, hadn’t he? That she was his girlfriend? And hell, now they have this house together, and the kids all love each other, and she really does think she’s bonded with Marcus as much as Rio’s bonded with her kids, and things are just - -

Things are _good_.

And she’s not entirely sure she misses dating exactly – after all, the only dates she’s ever been on have been with Dean, and his favourite date nights consisted of blockbuster movies and pawing at her in his car afterwards, his hands still buttery from popcorn, or dinner at a sports bar where he could watch the game over her shoulder while she drank her way to tomorrow’s hangover, but - -

But that’s not what Stan and Ruby’s date nights were, and it’s not like she can see Rio wearing his ratty highschool football jersey to take her to dinner somewhere with beer-sticky floors (not that he has a ratty highschool football jersey), or rifling through drawers to find expired soda coupons to take to the movie theatre (and making enough of a fuss some pimply fourteen year old would just let him get his dollar off).

Because really - - really Beth has no idea what a date with Rio would look like, and the more she thinks about it, the more she wants to find out.

“I want us to go on a date,” she says breathlessly, her thigh trembling in his grip as he holds it up, his tongue on her clit and two of his long fingers fucking into her. The words are enough to make him pause, his head popping up from between her legs, his lips wet with her as he stares up at her. He arches an eyebrow, looking from her face to where his fingers are still buried in her cunt, then back to her face. 

“Right now?”

Beth clenches her eyes shut, trying to will the blush from her face and her chest. She wriggles a little beneath him, tries to pull her leg from his grip, but he holds firm. The silence sits heavy between them, and Beth’s flush only deepens.

“Forget I said anything,” she says, waving a hand out in the air. “Please. Just - -”

She lets her hand fall heavily onto their mattress, staring up at the ceiling, exhaling a sharp breath when she feels Rio’s fingers crook inside her, his mouth lowering again, and she just - -

"Actually, don’t,” she says quickly, before she can talk herself out of it. “I do want to go on a date.”

It’s enough to make Rio pull his fingers out of her and drop her leg, and vaguely she can see him wipe his fingers on her pyjama shirt, which - - _rude_, before he gets up onto his knees and crawls over her body until they’re eye-to-eye, his arms and legs caging her beneath him.

“Yeah?” he asks her, voice low, then adds, “Why?”

And just - - god, his lips are still _wet_. Beth squirms underneath him, her eyes darting back to the ceiling behind his head, to the gold pendent light fitting and huh, she could’ve sworn she’d seen a smudge on it last night, had planned to clean it this morning, but Rio must’ve beaten her to it.

“Elizabeth,” he says, frustration leaking into his tone, and Beth glances back at him which feels like a mistake, because he’s really just too handsome for her to bear sometimes. She flails out between them.

“_Because that’s what normal couples do_,” she insists, voice shrill even to her own ears, and she’d cringe if Rio wasn’t looking down at her with something akin to amusement. He moves his arms a little closer to her face, his legs to her hips, caging her in a little tighter.

“Ain’t nothin’ normal about you and me, mami, you know that.”

The way he says it, she thinks he almost intends it to be a joke, but the truth of it pokes at a bruise she hadn’t realised was there. Which is stupid, she thinks, hadn’t she said the same thing to Ruby? To herself? But still - - maybe there’s some small part of her that wishes they could be normal. She bites her lip, looking up at him.

“Do you _not_ want to go on a date?”

He shrugs easily above her, hands balling a little in the sheets either side of her head.

“I just don’t get why we’re talkin’ about this now,” he replies easily, making a point of looking down at Beth’s naked body beneath him, and Beth can’t help the blush that blooms across her chest at the heat of his gaze. And he notices, of course he notices, eyes fixing on it as he sucks on his lower lip in the way he _knows _makes her hot and bothered.

She looks away from him then, tries to steel herself, focuses on the wrist and the hand in the sheets beside her face, but then she’s just looking at his fingers and thinking about where they just were, and that does nothing to take the heat out of her, so she sighs. 

“Stan and Ruby go on dates,” she says a little petulantly, and Rio’s brow furrows above her, and for a second, she thinks he looks almost confused, but the look passes too quickly. He shakes his head, sighs, shifts a little over her. 

“You want me to organise somethin’, you just gotta ask.”

And she blinks up at him then, at the thick curtains of his eyelashes and the plumpness of his lower lip, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and it’s what she wanted, only - - only - - 

“No,” Beth says suddenly. “I asked you, right? I want to organise something.”

As soon as she says it, she realises that she _does_. That she likes the thought of making him feel the way that Stan had made Ruby feel, the thought sort of cementing in her head, and Rio - - well. He looks far too amused by that, but he nods, watching to see if Beth’s going to continue, and when she doesn’t, he pushes slightly off his hands, reaching down to grab her by the backs of her thighs, lifting her ass off the bed and nudging her cunt with the head of his cock.

Beth blinks up at him again, wriggling a little beneath him.

“Aren’t you going to finish, _you know_,” she asks, gesturing to his mouth, and he shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m here now,” he tells her, lowering his lips to hers and pushing in hard enough to make her gasp.

***

And it’s not like Beth hasn’t planned for a date before, just - - she’s never exactly planned one with _Rio_.

“You could always just go to that country club he’s a member of, right?” Annie suggests, tossing back the last of her glass of whiskey like a shot. “Dress all fancy, get wine drunk, let him bone you in the hot tub or something.”

“_Annie_,” Beth hisses, her cheeks reddening, and Annie drops her glass back to the table, an _oh, please _look on her face.

“Seriously,” Ruby adds, arching an eyebrow over at Annie, sipping on her own drink. “We’re trying to give the relationship something _other _than sex, remember?”

Annie scoffs.

“Please. If I was living with someone as hot as gangfriend, I’d only get _off_ his dick to like, use the bathroom, and - - nope, you know what? I think that’s it. You can order everything online these days anyway.”

They’re sitting in Beth and Rio’s living room, the one they’ve somehow mostly managed to keep the kids out of – a luxury Beth had never been able to manage with Dean’s propensity for toys and mess being as big (if not bigger) than their children’s.

It hadn’t been an easy room to set up – their styles clashing in almost every way, but it had worked in the end – Rio’s black leather sofa softened with one of Beth’s lush white knit-throws, his dark wood bookshelves, with her big pigeon-egg lamps and small blue vases, a scattering of heavy canvases set above them that pulled the whites and blues and blacks out and tied the room together.

“I hate you, you know that, right?” Beth says, and Annie just grins, stretching back in one of the armchairs.

“One day I’m going to get you drunk enough to give me details. You’re practically married to a crime lord, yet the biggest crime the two of you commit is keeping what is no doubt your scorching hot sex life to yourselves.”

“Maybe an art show?” Ruby interjects, and Beth turns quickly to look at where Ruby’s glanced around their living room, eyeing off the huge abstract portraits Rio had hung not long after they’d moved in. “He clearly likes that sort of thing.”

“He already goes to all the ones he wants to,” Beth says with a sigh. “And he’s a total snob. If I took him to one that wasn’t up to his standards or something, I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it.”

Plus Beth wasn’t sure she could sit through another one herself. He’d taken her to a few over the last six months, and oddly enough, she’d felt more out of place trying to talk about perspective and derivative styles than she’d felt moving pills and meeting with potential money launderers.

(It didn’t help that she always left the house feeling so nice in one of her colourful tied-waist-dresses only to walk into a room of bougie art kids and feel her most modest housewife self – even though she loved those dresses, and was pretty sure Rio did too – once he’d even been just tipsy enough to mouth “Unwrappin’ you like a present. All this for me, mami?” against her neck in a way that had her blushing every time she put one on after it.)

“What about one of those workshops where you like, paint your bodies and then roll around on a giant piece of paper?”

Ruby squints over at Annie, pursing her lips pointedly.

“Roll around?”

“Well, bang,” Annie allows, and Ruby sucks in an annoyed breath, rolling her eyes, and looking back at Beth.

“You know, it’s a first date, right?”

Beth bites the inside of her cheek, nodding and shrugging at the same time.

“I guess.”

And Ruby holds up her hands, gesturing to the space between them.

“For a first date? There is nothing wrong with dinner and a movie.” 

***

“You can’t even make a booking,” Beth says, pulling her minivan into park on the street outside the restaurant. “The article said that they wanted to fight the elitism of Detroit’s inner-city restaurant scene.”

And it figures, that he wouldn’t look particularly impressed by that, but whatever, Beth thinks, she’s feeling way too good about her pick. One of the mom’s in Kenny’s new class had recommended the place when Beth had asked a clutch of them for suggestions, and when she’d looked it up, she’d found pretty much exclusively amazing reviews and a handful of glowing write-ups in foodie magazines (or at least, the headlines made it seem like they were glowing – the articles were all behind the paywall of course). In her head, she can already see that face Rio makes – that jutted lip, that chin tilt, that light in his eyes when he’s just eaten something he particularly likes. She grins to herself. 

“That why we’re havin’ dinner at half five?”

She bites her lip at that, shrugging as she unbuckles her seatbelt and clambers out of the car, smoothing her dress down in the process – it’s a little lower cut than she’d usually wear – a rich midnight blue with a white, grey and gold floral print. She’d paired it with a white and grey speckled shawl to ward off the nip of evening (well, late afternoon) air and a pair of nude pumps. She’d felt like she looked good the second she’d stepped back to look in the mirror, and it had helped more than she’d cared to admit that Rio had pressed against her the second he’d seen her and asked if she was sure she wanted to go out when they could just stay in (the kids were at their other parents’ after all).

(The offer had been tempting too – Rio looked good himself, in a pair of tailored black slacks and a crisp grey button-down shirt, a pair of polished black boots on his feet.)

“A few people on Yelp said there can be a really long wait if you get here late, and the movie starts at seven forty.”

He looks at her over the hood of her minivan, waiting for her to step around it onto the sidewalk with him, the second she does, finding his step beside her, his hand settling on the small of her back as they head towards the restaurant.

It does look nice from the outside, she thinks with a smile – trendy in a way she usually can’t pick, with it’s sleek sign and it’s moody lighting, even as bright, leafy plants pour out of every corner and a stable of waitstaff that’re all young and attractive, well-dressed in a way that makes it feel expensive (which is good, because she’s pretty sure it will be) dart between tables. Rio glances around the place beside her as Beth leads them forwards towards the waiter station.

“Table for two,” Beth asks, and the waitress there smiles back at her, shaking her head.

“At _Gather_, we’re a communal dining experience,” she says, her voice light, and Beth blinks, glancing back at Rio who arches an eyebrow at her. “You share tables, food, conversation and ideas with those around you, and celebrate in the underrated social practice of simply _gathering_.”

Beth blinks, looking over the waitress’ head, back out across the restaurant. As soon as she sees it, she can’t _unsee _it – the long banquet tables, the enormous share platters being passed between clutches of people, the _hipsters_. A noise escapes her throat she can’t quite control.

“You sharin’ food with strangers?” Rio asks the waitress behind her, and the waitress hums in affirmation. “Who pays then?”

“We price it per head, not per dish.”

Beth glances over at where Rio seems to struggle with the thought, and god, Beth can’t say she’s much better - - the thought of eating something some other person might have touched and _put back - -_ she swallows her grimace, squaring her shoulders like she’d known this all along. 

“Well, okay,” Beth says, nodding, moving to step into the restaurant only for the waitress to stop her, and yank out a small basket from beneath the wait station.

“You’ll need to check your phones in too. Here at _Gather_, we value the old-fashioned way of communicating.”

And of course they do. 

***

Really, it’s all downhill from there.

They end up sitting opposite each other at one of the longest tables in the place, somewhere in the middle, which only means the rapid body heat of everyone around them quickly leaves them both sweating and straining to hear each other over the mess of the crowd. Beth ends up having to pull off her shawl and as soon as she does, the boy in the family next to her – and god, he can’t be more than a year older than Kenny – practically superglues his attention on her cleavage, and Beth has to keep kicking Rio beneath the table to stop him from throttling the kid.

They’re still waiting for the platters to make their way down to them when a group of women are seated beside them. The loudest (and smelling most of cheap chardonnay) of them wearing an already-dirty party veil and a ‘Kiss the Bride’ sash proceeds to spend the rest of the hour practically throwing herself at Rio, ‘accidentally’ brushing her hand against his when they pass along platters, even falling into his lap at one stage in a way that makes his shoulders set in annoyance and Beth stare furiously down at her own food.

And at least the food really is pretty good, she thinks, almost comically, but Rio’s too visibly irritated by the place to do that face she likes so much, and honestly, she’s not much better, especially when half a platter of falafel and tahini sauce ends up in her lap.

By the end of dinner, _she’s _almost ready to throttle everyone in a six-foot radius, and it’s only worse when they end up standing at the wait station for close to twenty minutes because the waitress can’t find their phones.

She does eventually, and as they leave, Beth figures the night itself can’t be any more of a disaster. 

***

“Get your hands off me,” she hisses, batting his hand out from beneath her dress for what feels like the hundredth time and pointedly crossing her legs. “I’m serious.”

Despite her lowered tone, it’s still enough to make the elderly couple three rows behind them shush her, and she blinks hard, glancing over at Rio, who, the second he catches her eye, makes a production out of adopting a faux-annoyed expression, holding a finger up to his lips to shush her too. Giving him a sternly unamused look, Beth sinks a little lower in her seat, clutching the box of popcorn on her lap, and looks back up at the screen.

At least he’s in a better mood, she thinks, more than a little bitterly, even if her own has only gotten worse.

Wanting to avoid the sort of blockbusters she _knew _Rio would view as a waste of time, and a candy bar lobby that would inevitably remind her of Dean, she’d found a tiny arthouse cinema a few miles from the restaurant and picked a Polish film that had looked particularly artsy and abstract, hoping that Rio’s taste in paintings might translate to movies too.

And god, when they’d walked into the place and _Beth _had been the youngest there by about twenty years, she figured she might have screwed up. Still, here they were, sitting in a large cinema with about three other couples (all with an average age of about 70) watching a horrendously boring movie that made approximately _zero _sense, even with the subtitles. She figured they’d just get through it and he’d lord it over her until the end of time and it’d be over, until about twenty minutes into the film and Rio decided to rectify his boredom by trying to get his hand up her (sauce stained) dress, and just - - _no_. They were supposed to be spending time together _without _sex.

Time she had - - had _curated _for him.

She inhales a little sharply, trying to tune back into the film when she feels Rio playing with the hem of her dress again. Glaring at him, he grins in reply, her dress somehow already at the middle of her thighs, his thumb stroking down the crease her leg makes as it folds over the other.

“_Rio_,” she whines. “I’m serious, there are people here.”

He looks around her at that, gaze drifting to the other couples, peppered around the theatre.

“You seein’ these people? Baby, they ain’t gonna notice. I just wanna make you feel better.”

Beth sighs, fraught, glancing sideways at him in the dark of the theatre, and she really - - she _shouldn’t_. Still, biting her lip, she pushes her dress down over his hand, back down past her knees, and uncrosses her legs. Beside her, Rio grins.

And god, his hand is _so warm_ trailing up her inner thighs, and it’s just so _nice _to think about that instead of this terrible night. She tightens her grip around the box of popcorn in her hands, wetting her lips, wriggling a little in her seat, a little closer to his hand, and Rio laughs softly beneath his breath, his hand moving up to cup her gently. Her eyes flutter shut as he trails his fingers up her slit through the lace of her panties, the friction enough to make her suck in a breath, and he’s toying with the waistband now, fingers just shy of dipping beneath, when - -

“These new?” he asks suddenly, and Beth blinks her eyes back open, head darting to look at him. She glances quickly around, to make sure nobody heard, and when she replies, she lowers her voice to a whisper.

“I - - we’re on a date.”

“You buy new panties for every date?” he asks curiously, voice a little thick, but a little playful too, and Beth blushes, bright and pink. It had just seemed like a good idea at the time – just like all of it had – that special dinner, an artsy film she thought he’d love, topped off with a new pair of kind-of sexy underwear – something he hadn’t seen a million times before.

Because sure, the date shouldn’t be about sex, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t cap the night.

“I - - I don’t know,” she stutters now, willing the heat from her cheeks. “Maybe we’d know if we went on more of them. And don’t say panties.”

He hums a little, sliding his fingers in the waistband, till the calloused pads of them were pressed feather-light against her skin. He runs them down towards the leg, following it up and around, and she goes to grab his wrist, but she’s not fast enough, because he’s felt the progression of it enough to know. He laughs, so loud and delighted, that a couple a few rows in front of them turn around to shush them. Rio waves them off in faux apology, before lowering his voice, pressing closer, so she can feel his breath against the shell of her ear.

“Oh, baby, you wearin’ a thong for me?”

And suddenly it’s just too much. The sheer mortification of the moment, the picture of what she wanted and the culmination of this disaster of a night, and she’s pushing his hand out of her panties, grabbing her purse and her shawl and striding out of the theatre, ignoring the hisses from the elderly couples around her.

She bursts out of the theatre, striding out across the lobby and darting immediately down the stairs towards the street. Vaguely she can hear Rio bounding out behind her, his own feet heavy across the floor, knows that she _lives _with him, that there’s no way she doesn’t have to face up to this disaster of a night, doesn’t have to think about what about this has made her so upset, but god, she doesn’t want to do it _now_.

“If you want to watch the rest of the movie, you can catch a cab home,” she calls behind her desperately. “Or - - or I could catch a cab home, and you could take the minivan, or I could get Annie or Ruby to pick me up, or - -”

“What are you talkin’ about?” he asks it so earnestly, so genuinely confused, that Beth pivots on the spot, sees him, just a few steps behind her on the movie theatre stairs, and Beth just gestures up at him.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” she says, and Rio looks at her, stops, high above her. He holds his arms out either side of him, his forehead still furrowed in confusion.

“How we gettin’ home? We’re leavin’ together. Trust me, I’m real serious about that.”

And god, that’s not what she means at all. Or maybe it was, but it’s not - - she’s just - -

She shakes her head.

“No, _this_. Our date. You didn’t want to do it in the first place, and you were judgemental of the restaurant right away, and now we’re trying to watch the movie I picked, and you’re making it - -” she gestures, exhales.

_About sex_, she thinks.

And then she thinks about Stan and Ruby and their picnic, and their jazz bar, and their wedding cassette – dancing to it barefoot on their living room floor – before they made love.

And just - - _fuck_.

Beth clenches her eyes shut, rubbing at her forehead.

Somewhere behind her, a car beeps. Somebody leans out of their window and yells. She can hear the thrum of evening traffic and the hollers of groups of friends, buzzing towards bars or apartments or whatever it is people that age do these days, and god, has she just missed a million steps? Have _they_?

“I don’t get you right now,” Rio says, and she blinks up, surprised to suddenly find him only a few steps above her, his gaze fixed, his forehead still creased. “I don’t get why you makin’ tonight this big thing, coz, darlin’, I know you, and this ain’t you, and it ain’t me neither. You think I like eatin’ off of other people’s plates and watchin’ boring shit like that?”

“You like,” she flails briefly, sucking in a breath. “Expensive things! Arty things! I picked them for you.”

Rio furrows his brow, shaking his head at her, his hand going out, like he wants to touch her, only to pull it back again. He pauses, rocking back into his heels, curving his body gently away from her.

“So what? You tryna impress me or somethin’? Why?”

And it’s not that, not really. Or maybe it is. She thinks she’s wanted to impress him from the moment she first had – with his boy’s gun to her temple and acid words on her tongue. But that doesn’t feel like what this is - - this just feels - -

“We don’t date.”

Rio reels back, surprised.

“What?”

“We don’t date,” Beth repeats, her tone steadying. “We decided to move in together before we even knew we were in a serious relationship. We have _five children _between us and a house and a - - a _crime empire _and yet we’ve never been on a date. That’s _not normal_, even for us.” 

As soon as she says it, she feels it. Knows it, somehow, everywhere, like it’s been burning on her tongue without her even knowing it. She doesn’t need normal, she thinks, but she needs occasionally the touchstone of _normalcy_. Needs a story to compare, every now and then, to Stan and Ruby, because she and Rio feel - - how _she _feels, with him - - how she wants to make _him _feel (no occasion, Stan had said, because there never was for them) - -

Just - -

“We don’t date?”

His voice cuts through her thoughts, and Beth blinks up at him, folding her shawl around herself. She tilts her chin up, and then sideways, as if gesturing to everything around them, to this night, in particular, and then she shrugs.

"Honestly, after tonight I can see why.”

And she’s not sure what she’s expecting, but it’s not for Rio to shake his head at her, his forehead furrowed, his mouth open.

"What’d we do last weekend?”

And then it’s Beth’s turn to blink.

“What?”

“What’d we do last weekend?” he repeats, and Beth flails a bit, still clutching at her shawl.

“We went to the farmer’s market, and then we got breakfast,” she says, and Rio nods, gesturing back to her.

“And two weeks ago? When your sister came over with her kid?”

“We went to that bar opening,” she says. “But you’d invested in that place, so it was technically work.”

“Yeah, okay,” he allows. “But what about last month? That exhibit in town? You hated it, but we got ice cream at that place you love after and you let me eat it off you.”

Beth blushes, the colour finding her face instantly, and the memory of it hits her too stark. The place had served them some organic vanilla stuff but drizzled a rich sherry over the top, and Beth’s eyes had almost rolled back into her head at how perfect it was, and Rio had laughed in a way she’d never heard before – something almost - - almost boyish, and too light, and she’d kissed the sound from him, wanting to swallow it, wanting to never forget it.

She clears her throat.

“It was very cold,” she says mildly, and Rio snorts on a laugh, and just, god.

Suddenly she feels really, really silly.

“This isn’t our first date, is it?” she asks, cringing internally, clutching her shawl around herself, and Rio rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Nah, it ain’t. Lucky for both of us too, ‘coz I don’t think I’d be back for another if it was.”

To be fair, neither would she. Still, she laughs, nose scrunching a little, her gaze floating back up to find him watching her, his eyes dark, his face more relaxed than she thinks she’s seen it all night, and it makes her pause, because, jeez, how can they be so out of step but so in tune? She huffs out a breath.

“It was a bad date,” she says, groaning as she does it, and Rio snorts on a laugh, but doesn’t disagree with her. In fact, he doesn’t say anything for a minute, his gaze staying fixed on her, seeming to take her in, like it’s the first time he’s ever done it, and she doesn’t know how he does that so often – how he can just _see her_, over and over again, can keep wanting her, can keep _choosing _her, every single time. In every shape. In every ugly form. Her heart stutters in her chest.

“You got a matching top for those new panties o’ yours?”

And, well. That stuttering quickly sinks low. Still, she rocks out a hip, rolls her eyes, but nods, and Rio just hums, delighted.

“It was a bad date,” he agrees, voice an easy drawl. “You let me see this new set you got and I think we could make it a better one.”

Beth can’t help but grin, the stuttering heat in her sinking even lower, and she looks at her feet before looking back up at him. She furrows her brow in faux seriousness.

“But the end of the movie - -” she tries, and Rio practically growls, lunging down the last few steps separating them, kissing her in a way that’s anything but chaste. 


	5. Some Assembly Required

“Can you just - - _hold it._”

Rio grunts from the other side of the hutch, pushing his weight so heavily back against it that Beth almost topples back onto the floor of Danny’s bedroom.

“I said _hold it_, not _push it_,” she snaps, hands still gripping the cheap timber frame, feeling the sweat beading at her temple, dampening her hair. She knew she should’ve tied it up. Awkwardly tilting her neck, she tries to wipe her forehead as best she can on the arm of her tank top, regretting it almost instantly when all she does is leave a smear of sweat at her already clammy shoulder.

“We should’a just got him the one from my guy.”

“I am not buying a nine-year-old a $1,200 desk,” she insists, fumbling against the carpet with her free hand for one of the screws. “All he’s going to do on it is his homework and probably cover it with stickers of dinosaurs and skateboards.” 

_Or draw on it, _she thinks, but she doesn’t feel any desire to tell Rio that. Rio seems to have made it a personal mission to get Danny to draw on paper instead of his sisters, the bannister, the fence outside, the fridge, the kitchen counter. The thing was, Danny was pretty good at it, naturally artistic, which seems to have triggered _something _in Rio. God, he’d even bought him an art set and taken him to some afterschool classes, but it was no good. Danny’s interest in art seemed to taper off the second a pencil was put in his hand and a sheet of paper in front of him. Beth figured he’d grow out of it, but she’d had to endure more than one rant about it from Rio as they got ready for bed.

Slipping the screw into the side of the hutch, she throws an arm out for the allen key, and when she can’t reach, glances up at Rio, who’s still holding his side of it together, an irritated look on his face.

“Rio,” she says, and when he looks at her, she gestures towards the allen key. It takes him a minute to actually grab it and pass it over, and Beth really thinks she should’ve just called Annie or Ruby to do this with her instead.

It had seemed like a simple enough thing – Danny needed a desk. Danny needed a desk because Kenny had decided, with highschool only a few weeks and a summer break away, that he was above anything so childish as doing homework with his little brother at the dining room table or the kitchen island. Beth sighs, turning the allen key over in her fingers, remembering Danny’s tears over the whole thing, and it had been easier to try and get him excited over a new special desk just for him than it had been to try and get Kenny to shake off his new adolescent ideas and resentments and just sit at the damn table with his brother.

“You waitin’ on an invitation or what?” Rio asks her, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she rolls her eyes, shoving the allen key into the screw and tightening the frame of the hutch.

Ikea had seemed like a simple enough thing too, and she’d been happy to go on her own or with one of the girls, _knowing _that Rio would turn his nose up at it, but he’d initially seemed happy enough to go with her. She thinks they were both mature enough to admit it had been a mistake. They’d been arguing the second they’d driven into the carpark (they had different ideas of what was most convenient – he’d wanted to park closest to the loading bays, she’d wanted to park closest to the exit), and really, the whole thing had just devolved from there. 

Rio raps his fingers on the top of the hutch, gesturing back for the allen key, and Beth finishes her side before passing it over to him, watching as he lays in the last two screws, his big fingers nearly swallowing the thing. When he’s done, he stands up quickly, grabbing the finished hutch in one hand and propping it onto the top of the little desk, pushing it down onto the jelly-bean-sized timber stubs which seem to personally offend him.

Still Beth can’t quite contain her glee at it, clapping.

“Look at it!” she says, delighted, as Rio steps away from the now-finished desk. He shakes his head back at it, but holds a hand down towards Beth, helping her up off the floor.

“This shit ain’t built to last.”

“We don’t need it to last,” she replies, turning around to grab the now-empty bags of plastic, the instructions, the padding from the flat-pack box. “We need it to get Danny to highschool.”

“Feels temporary,” Rio adds, still eyeing it off, and Beth laughs, still scrunching up the last of the padding for the bin.

“You love temporary.”

She’s almost out the door into the hallway when she turns back to see Rio still eyeing off the desk, his lips pursed, like he’s deep in thought, and Beth rolls her eyes, wandering back to his side, looking at the desk.

“We can buy him the $1,200 one when he’s older,” Beth says, and Rio turns to look at her, an eyebrow raised, his lips lightly parting. “It can be a highschool graduation present.”

She wrinkles up her nose.

“College graduation,” she corrects, and Rio snorts on a laugh, slinging an arm easily over her shoulder, pulling her into his side.

“How quick this thing gonna be covered in marker?”

And Beth laughs at that too, her shoulder shaking where it’s pressed against his chest, her nose wrinkling again as she looks down at the currently pristine desk.

“I’m surprised it’s lasted this long,” she jokingly laments, and Rio hums, leaning down to kiss her.


	6. Heartwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: one of the kids call Rio dad or Marcus call Beth mom.

Beth’s still pulling Marcus and Jane’s backpacks out of their classroom cubbies when Jane scrambles up beside her, a splotch of vivid, dried green paint on the front of her dress, and a determined look on her face.

“We gotta go to the special store,” Jane says purposefully, and Beth blinks down at her, surprised. The special store has never exactly been Jane’s favourite place after all, and Beth had honestly avoided taking her there after a particularly spectacular tantrum last year in the buttons and clasps aisle.

Because that was the thing about the special store – it was special to _Beth_, not to the kids. It was the craft store – any craft store, really, the nickname having stuck after Beth’s first bout of post-partum with Kenny, when the only thing that had been able to get her out of bed – hell, the only thing that had reignited her dulled nerves – was the purposeful colour coordination of balls of yarn and the categorical organisation of stickers for scrapbooking. She’d cooed stories of _special stores _down into all of her kids’ cradles, bounced them up and down the aisles, not even thinking of making anything, just finding a stranger sort of solace in the promise of it all when everything else had felt so unmanageable, and even after all these years, the name had stuck.

“Do we need something from it?” Beth asks curiously, and Jane sets her jaw, her head lolling around and then quickly back again, and Beth follows her briefly-held gaze, spotting Marcus at the front of the classroom, talking and laughing with a gaggle of little boys, oozing childish ease and charisma. And god, Beth thinks, exhaling, a grin finding her face, watching him roll his shoulders down, shake his head a little, he really is just like his dad.

“We’ve got homework,” Jane tells her, and Beth’s focus darts back down to her daughter, and just - - she could almost laugh. She thinks she can count on one hand the number of times Jane’s willingly brought up homework.

“Well, okay then,” Beth allows, dropping Marcus’ backpack to the floor just long enough to turn Jane’s around, holding the straps wide enough for Jane to wriggle her arms into. Once it’s on, Beth grabs Marcus’ again, starting to hustle them out the room. “What’s the homework?”

“Family tree,” Jane says, and Beth has to suppress a groan, immediately wondering if she can scrounge Emma or Danny’s out of storage to put them all out of their misery. This sort of thing always takes way longer than it should, and Beth hates that the process always involves a level of pretend and make believe – of fairy tale. Or at least, Beth had always made it that way. She bites the inside of her cheek, wondering if Annie really did have the better idea with it – she’d never made any illusions with Ben after all. She’d just given him the pictures of herself and Beth and Ruby and said that was all the family on their side worth knowing.

Still, Beth pauses by the door, turning back towards the classroom. Maybe things are different for Jane.

“Marcus!” she calls, interrupting whatever story he’s telling among the group of boys. “You ready to go, honey?”

He practically glows up at her, a hundred-watt smile as he quickly says goodbye to his friends and scurries over to her, spinning on the spot so that Beth can slide the straps of his backpack over his shoulders too.

“You had a good day?” she asks, and he nods up at her, grabbing her hand, and Beth reaches for Jane’s with the other, leading them out towards the car.

*** 

So they do swing by the craft store on their way home and pick up some poster boards (yellow for Jane, blue for Marcus), some glitter markers, multi-coloured tissue paper and brown yarn (it’s like bark, Marcus insists, and Beth can’t say it’s a colour she has in her home stash). Getting home, she promptly sets them both up at the dining room table with a snack, and gets a head start on dinner.

And really, it’s barely been an hour when the front door cracks open and Emma and Danny chatter their way through, Rio half a step behind them with Emma’s bag from ballet slung over his shoulder. They’d started splitting the pick-ups, and honestly it had been a godsend in a way that Beth had never really thought about before – being able to do the one swooping trip instead of the stuttered one she’d had to do on her own (or, well, while she was with Dean) – no afterschool activity seemingly finishing at the same time.

Plus it always meant one of them got to work a little later – Rio getting the late pick-up today of Emma from ballet and Danny from his art class (Kenny has blissfully head off to a sleepover at a friend’s place, which lightens the load even more). Beth watches affectionately, still peeling carrots and parsnips at the kitchen island as Emma shows Rio her spins up the hallway and Rio looks on, dutifully impressed, before directing Danny upstairs to clean up (even from this distance she can see his hands are _covered _in charcoal).

Behind her, the pot on the stove boils loudly, and Beth spins on the spot, adjusting the temperature dial before making quick work slicing the carrot and parsnip and dropping them into the water. She’ll add peas, she thinks, string beans. She’s sure she got some broccoli the other day too. She’s still thinking about what vegetables to add when a hand slides down her back and Rio presses easily to her side.

“Need a hand, mami?” he asks, and Beth shakes her head, leaning into him before she can help it. It’s strange, how this can still make her flush, the ease with which he touches her something she’s still so unused to – the _want _she feels in even his most innocent touches, the want she feels in herself.

“Was Emma okay after ballet?” she asks instead, distracting herself from the heat of his body beside hers, his hand dropping lower, lower, until he finds the curve of her ass and lightly squeezes. Her flush deepens, and she can feel Rio laugh more than hear it, the gentle movement of his chest at her arm. “I know she hasn’t liked this new teacher as much as the last one, but the committee really does think she’ll be a good fit once she settles in, and she’s only a maternity leave cover anyway, and - -”

She’s babbling now, distracting herself, and they both know it. They’ve had the kids for two weeks is the thing, and it’s been great, but it also means that time just for them has been hard to find, and she already knows Rio’s cleared their work schedules for the afternoon after Dean and Laura pick up the kids, but still, Beth can’t help but - -

“Mommy,” Jane calls from the dining room behind them, her voice cutting through Beth’s rambling thoughts. “Is Rio my daddy now?”

And just - -

_What?_

They both stiffen instantly, Rio promptly putting a little distance between them as they turn on the spot to look at where Jane’s looking right back at them from the dining room table, a glitter marker in her hands, Marcus beside her, a startled expression on his own face.

Beth glances sideways at Rio, before clearing her throat, putting the slotted spoon down beside the stove and carefully softening her features.

“Your dad is your daddy,” Beth says gently. “Nothing’s going to change that.”

She’s not sure what she’s expecting, perhaps a quiet agreement or some teary-eyed confusion, but it’s not for Jane to look at her like _she’s _the one being silly. Her little hand clenches tighter around the glitter marker.

“Michaela has two daddies,” Jane says authoritatively, tilting her chin up, and Beth laughs, surprised.

“Yes, but Michaela’s daddies are married to each other, honey.”

“_You’re_ married to each other.”

She says it with such certainty that it takes Beth a minute to recover, her eyes darting over to Rio who’s just sort of staring at Jane with a blindsided expression that under any other circumstances would be hilarious. Beth shakes her head at Jane, smiling as benignly as she can.

“No we’re not.”

“You live together,” Jane says, and Marcus nods beside her, seemingly hopping on board with Jane’s train of thought. He squints a little at his dad, as if seeing him in a new light.

“And you only have one bed,” he says slowly.

“And Mr. Rio puts his hand on your butt _alllll _the time,” Jane adds, and Beth pinks at that, shooting Rio a filthy look in the process (god, with the way he always insists the kids don’t notice - - she sucks in a breath).

“Well, mommy and Rio are girlfriend and boyfriend, remember?”

“Auntie Annie doesn’t live with any of _her_ boyfriends,” Jane says, and Marcus nods in agreement, and then it’s Rio giving Beth a dirty look and she can’t really blame him. What does Annie even talk to them about when she babysits?

“That’s true,” Beth allows. “But there are lots of ways to be girlfriend and boyfriend, and Rio and I are - -”

She looks over at him, searching for the word, but he now seems almost as curious as the kids as to what she says. Flailing briefly, she settles on: “Special,” and hates the way her heart flutters when she sees Rio’s gaze soften.

Still, Jane makes a pointed sound in her throat like she isn’t pleased with the answer, fixing her gaze back down on her poster board.

“Then what do I call him on my tree?” she says with a pout, and Beth sighs, flicking off the stove, putting a pin in dinner, and stepping around the kitchen island towards the dining room table. Beside Jane, Marcus looks equally confused, and she can see the way they’ve drawn each other onto their trees already, all five of the kids, and then Beth and Rio too, but outside of their respective parents, everyone else sits unnamed.

What _does_ she call him? Beth wonders, her gaze darting over to Rio who’s stepped out of the kitchen too, is looking over the poster boards and piecing together what has the kids so newly confused on his own.

“And what do I call you?” Marcus adds, blinking up at her, and Beth tries to smile down at him, her mind reeling through options. She thinks about Annie, what she told Ben to call Noah, but then Ben had been older, and Noah had been - - well. She exhales, reaching out to run a hand through Jane’s hair as she looks over at Marcus.

“Well, I could be your Aunt Beth,” she says, and then to Jane: “And Rio can be your Uncle Rio.”

Jane doesn’t look particularly sold on this answer, her face drawing into a little scowl, and Beth frowns, her own brow furrowing, because something feels off. Jane’s always been prone to bouts of moodiness, but this feels like something more.

“Uncles have to be with aunties,” Jane suddenly decides. “Like Uncle Stan is with Auntie Ruby, and Uncle Greg was with Auntie Annie. Mr Rio’s _your _boyfriend, not Auntie Annie’s.”

At the mere prospect, Rio visibly blanches, and Beth rolls her eyes, pushing out a hip and continuing to stroke Jane’s hair. She’d hoped it would’ve calmed her down, but she seems almost jittery with energy, with - - _something_, and Beth’s already tracking down the dubby in her head, even as she says:

“Okay, well, what would you like to call him then?”

With that, Jane looks over at Rio, her face still pulled into that little scowl, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her, a gently enquiring (and softly amused) look on his face, and she opens her mouth and then it’s just that – quick as anything, her bottom lip quivering as she looks down at the poster board again, her hand almost white knuckled around the glitter marker in her fist.

“You’ve got to get married,” Jane says desperately, and Beth lets out a breath, ignoring the way Rio snorts a little, amused, behind her.

“Jane,” she starts, but then stops, the air sucked from her lungs when Jane suddenly bursts into sobs, her little face red and splotchy, her lashes pearling with tears.

“If you’re married, Marcus is mine,” Jane cries. “He’s my friend, he’s my brother, he’s _mine_,” and just like that, everything suddenly clicks into place. Jane’s insistence on the homework, her need to make it special at the special store, Marcus in the classroom, surrounded by boys, by _new friends_, and Jane on her own, and instantly Beth’s heart just _breaks_, and she’s down, plucking her daughter out of the seat, clutching her as tightly to her chest as she can.

Her own gaze skirts quickly to Marcus – who looks visibly distressed now – and Rio – who looks mostly just bewildered by the whole thing, as she lets Jane hide her face in her chest. Rio stands up, but Beth shakes her head, gesturing him back down to Marcus.

“Marcus made some new friends at school,” Beth says quickly, and Rio’s mouth quickly forms a neat _ah_, as he glances down at his son. “We’re going to go find Jane’s dubby.”

Rio just nods, walking around the table and slipping down into the chair that Beth just plucked Jane out of, and Beth makes quick work up the stairs towards Jane’s bedroom, never losing her tight grip on her daughter.

*** 

The thing is, they don’t even get the chance to talk about it until later that night – until after Beth’s calmed Jane down, after she’s reassured her that what Jane and Marcus have is special too, that even if he makes new friends, he won’t be leaving her behind, until after Beth’s managed to get her back downstairs, settled her on the couch, still wobbly lipped, in front of _The Powerpuff Girls_, until after dinner, after putting all the kids to bed, after - -

Well.

Beth sighs as Rio rolls off her, flopping heavily into the mattress beside her, running a hand back over his head, lips pulled into a sated grin. Stretching out her still trembling legs, she rolls over enough to grab a few tissues off her bedside table, doing a poor job of cleaning herself up. Whatever, she’ll shower later, she thinks, resisting the urge to yawn as she bundles up the tissues onto her bedside table to throw away when she gets up.

The post-orgasmic bliss wears off too quickly though, her lips turning down as she thinks about Jane’s kittenish warbles against her neck earlier that night – the worry in her of losing Marcus, of losing Rio, just like she’d lost her dad. Or not lost _him _per se, Beth reminds herself, just - - the family. The lifestyle. Everything she knew. Guilt spikes in Beth’s gut, and she sucks in a breath, resisting the urge to get up, pull her clothes on, slip into bed beside her daughter and hold her close.

As if he’s felt the shift in her, Rio rolls over onto his side, turning to face her in the bed, his eyes squinting a little, taking her in.

“They’ll be fine, ma,” he tells her softly, and then adds, a little dryly: “Hell, a little space might even be good for ‘em.”

And Beth snorts at that, rolling her head around to face him, her eyebrow arched.

“Good for you, you mean,” she interprets, and Rio grins a little, pretending to be caught out, even though they both know he’d take their antics over their unhappiness any day of the week. “And I know, I just - -”

She gestures an arm out into the open air, pulling the sheet up around herself in the process.

“I get why she’d be upset,” Beth says. “And I can’t help but feel that it’s a little my fault.”

“How you figure that?”

Beth just shrugs, and steadfastly refuses to answer the question, and Rio exhales a hoarse, slightly annoyed breath, but doesn’t probe any deeper. Instead, his hand finds her belly, smoothing over the sheet on top of it, before he trails it up, ghosting over her breast.

The thing is, Beth _knows _what Jane must be feeling. Had born witness to her own family’s shaky demise as a girl, the introduction of somebody new she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of being apart from, only Annie was not Marcus, and Jane was certainly not Beth, and god forbid Beth ever become a ghost like her mother. She sighs, rubbing a little at her chest, her fingers briefly brushing against Rio’s and she opens her mouth, intending to say what, she’s not sure, but instead what comes out is:

“Would it bother you if Jane called you daddy?”

It’s enough to still his hand, and it’s a moment, maybe two, before he speaks again.

“Would it bother you?” he throws back, and Beth blinks, turning to look at him, his dark eyes fixed unblinkingly back on her, and Beth thinks about it – really thinks about it, and while she thinks nothing would ever replace Dean, nor would she want it to, the thought of any of her kids having that sort of relationship with Rio tightens something in a way that both excites her and frightens her. So she shakes her head.

“No, it wouldn’t bother me.”

It takes a moment for Rio to react, but when he does, he just nods, an unreadable expression on his face, that somehow lightens something inside her she can’t name.

“Would it bother you if Marcus called you mama?” he drawls, voice dipped unintentionally low, and that’s just enough to make Beth laugh, grabbing the hand of his that’s settled on her breast.

“If he said it like that, absolutely,” she says, still giggling, and Rio rolls his eyes, lighter again himself, sliding in closer to her, biting her shoulder.

“Come on, ma, serious.”

Beth shakes her head no, his face so close to hers now that the movement of it makes her cheek brush against the bristle of his buzzed hair, causing her to shiver pleasantly.

“It should be their choice though,” Beth decides. “What they want to call us, and when they want to do it.”

Rio hums a warm noise of agreement, lifting his head enough to nose against her jawline, biting a little at her chin dimple before he kisses her, and just - - god, this is a conversation they need to have with the kids then, and there’s still much to figure out, so much to think about, but Beth melts beneath his touch, like she always does, like, she thinks, she always will. 


	7. Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: I have this theory. Its that the only way they will say anything seriously nice about the other is if they are not saying it to each other. Could you write something about Beth defending Rio to someone (maybe a PTA mom or Ruby) or Rio defending Beth to someone (maybe Dean) and the other one overhears? Kinda the opposite of 'eavesdroppers never hear nice things' kinda thing.

He’s halfway through a meeting with one of their newer clients – some watery-eyed, broad-faced fuck with a propensity already for overstepping – when Rio’s cell buzzes in the back pocket of his jeans, and shit, he thinks, gaze flicking to his right on the table where his work cell sits uninterrupted. It’s ain’t that. 

“I can manage the extra cars,” the client says across from him, unperturbed, shifting forwards slightly in his seat, and Rio arches an eyebrow, feeling his cell quiet down, then the tell-tale buzz of a voicemail left after it. There are only a few people it could be on this line – Elizabeth, probably about dinner tonight or somethin’ (she’s careful about calling his work cell for work-related things after all), his mom, probably about dinner on Sunday night, or - - his jaw already twitching in annoyance - - Glenvale Elementary School. 

“That’s a lotta product,” he tells the client, while telling himself it could be Danny’s teacher – Elizabeth had kept him home sick yesterday with what she was sure were the early signs of an ear infection, and she _ is _usually right about those sorts of things; or Emma’s teacher, maybe – giving her another prize for highest raised hand or cleanest desk or some shit, but damn, who’s he kidding? 

If it’s the school, he knows who it’s about. 

“I can move it,” the client insists. “It’s only three more than my guys are already doing, and I’ve got a few new territories I’m exploring for distribution.” 

It’s the way the guy says it more than anything that makes Rio train a lazy eye back on him – the tone just the wrong side of desperate. Rio knows that tone – the tone of somebody who’s promised someone more than he can offer. 

Rocking forwards a little in his own seat, Rio knits his fingers together, drops them as one to the table in front of him, his brow furrowing in faux confusion as he does it, and he’s about to ask exactly _ why _this dumbass needs three extra cars worth of pills when his cell starts buzzing again in the back pocket of his jeans. 

And just - - 

If it _ is _the school - - 

If one of them is sick or hurt or something, just - - 

_ Fuck _. 

He lurches to his feet. 

“We’ll start with one,” he tells the guy, already reaching for his cell, and when the client opens his mouth to try and haggle, Rio silences him quickly with a look. Once he’s sure the guy isn’t going to make trouble, he drags his gaze away just long enough to make eye contact with Demon, who’s standing, folded-armed, by the door. 

“Demon’ll take you through the, ah –” he rolls his free hand out at the wrist, making a show out of considering this, his other hand still occupied with his buzzing cell. “_ P _ _ aperwork _, dot the I’s, cross them t’s. You do okay with the one, we can talk about two next time, yeah?” 

And at least even the mention of Demon is enough to shut the guy up for real. 

What can he say? Demon’s got a rep, and what sort of boss would Rio be if he didn’t know how to use it? He smirks a little, watches as Demon moves to sit down on the edge of the table, inches away from the client, looking down at him, and when he’s sure Demon’s got it, Rio slips easily out of the room. 

He’s still walking down the short hallway of the warehouse to his current office when he finally actually looks at his buzzing cell, feeling equally pissed off and vindicated at the Glenvale Elementary number blearing back up at him. And sure, maybe he’s pinching his nose as he answers the call, elbowing his way into his office – expecting what exactly, he has no fucking clue. He’s given up on guessing when it comes to Marcus and Jane. If they’ve started another fire though, he swears to god - - 

“Mr Vela,” the administrator says, a little breathless, her voice cutting through his thoughts. “Thanks for taking our call. We understand you’re a very busy man.” 

Rio just hums, folding down into his desk chair. 

“The kids aight?” 

“Um, yes, yes, the kids are all fine, we were just - - we were wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming in? Now? Or whenever soonest you could get here?” 

He checks his watch, rocking his jaw in irritation. He’s not sure he can sit through another meeting with Marcus and Jane’s teacher, watch him make cow eyes at Elizabeth, blush like he’s fourteen when she laughs at some joke so lame it may as well be leavin’ his mouth with scuffed loafers and a sweater vest. 

And - - 

Wait - - 

He purses his lips a little. 

“Yeah, ain’t you got some PTA mom bake off on right now?” he asks. “My partner should be there already. In your cafeteria and whatnot.” 

Despite his best efforts to get her not to be. There were better uses of her time after all, but she kept insisting it was good for the kids to see her there, for the school to see her there too, and they’d fought enough about it, because yeah, sure – Rio was down for the recitals and the games and even the family mixers (which - - _ ugh _), but it wasn’t like the kids were even around for the PTA shit, and besides, Rio (and Elizabeth, in name at least) had donated half a library to the damn place. Enough that the school would turn a blind eye to any of the shit Rio did if he needed to (namely taking the kids out at no notice if shit went down. Or if it didn’t. Whatever. Sometimes he just wanted to take ‘em to LegoLand). 

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling,” the administrator says a little nervously. “There’s been an incident with some of the parents. In fact, with your partner. If you could come in as soon as you could, we’d be grateful.” 

*** 

And really, this shit is just hilarious. 

He’d gotten a few of the details over the phone from the administrator, but honestly he doesn’t think anything will really beat walking into a first grade classroom and seeing Elizabeth on one of those tiny little plastic seats, a handful of scratches at her temple like someone’s tried to gauge out her eye and missed, some more at her chest, the neck of her pink blouse torn open and her neck and chest smeared with frosting. 

Rio arches an eyebrow at her as he steps in, and Elizabeth puts her nose up and everything, a blush dusting her cheeks, all prim like they ain’t gonna be finding blood and frosting when she pulls her bra off later, but then - - he bites back a grin. That sounds kinda fun. 

She’s doing better than the woman beside her anyway – some Bargain Bin Barbie, who has two cotton balls shoved up her bloody nose, the start of a killer black eye (and damn, when had Elizabeth’s right hook gotten that good?) and cake in her peroxide blonde hair. Some Ryan Seacrest-type who’s gotta be her husband sits beside her, arms folded over his chest, looking for all the world like it’s the last place he wants to be. 

No imagination, Rio thinks, his jaw rocking in amusement, eyes shifting back to Elizabeth. 

He can’t think of a place he’d rather be. 

“Ah, wonderful, we’re all here.” 

The voice sounds from behind the desk, and Rio jerks his head around to see some guy who must be a part of the faculty – tall and lanky wearing the ugliest fucking tie Rio’s ever seen. The guy gestures him out vaguely towards the back of the classroom. “Would you mind taking a seat.” 

Striding forwards, Rio grabs one of the little plastic chairs from where they’re stacked in the corner, dropping it beside Elizabeth and sitting heavily down in it. As soon as he’s seated, the guy looks between them, ringing his hands a little nervously, shuffling in his own seat. 

“I’ve called you in today because your wives –” 

“They’re not even married,” Bargain Barbie snips, and Elizabeth’s head rotates around so quickly she’s like that little girl in _ The Exorcist _. 

“It’s 2019, Tania, marriage hasn’t been a measure of a relationship’s worth in at least twenty years. Something you’d know if you read something other than the back of your box-mix cupcakes.” 

And, well, damn, Rio thinks, sucking in his lips to swallow a laugh as he looks back at Ugly Tie. Vaguely he can see Bargain Barbie (or Tania, he supposes, but whatever, he doesn’t care) make a noise of abject outrage – whether at being called out for her apparently dated ideas or the insinuation that her cupcakes aren’t made from scratch, Rio has no idea. Maybe it’s both, with the way she turns about nine different shades of red. Beside her, her husband suddenly grabs her hand, dragging it into his lap to stop her from hitting Elizabeth again. 

Or, well, trying to. No matter how funny this whole thing is, Rio’s not exactly inclined to let anyone touch her. 

“Your partners,” Ugly Tie corrects nervously. “Were involved in an incident in the school cafeteria ahead of this afternoon’s PTA Bake Off.” 

“We weren’t _ involved in an incident _ ,” the blonde hisses, flailing her free hand out in Beth’s direction. “She _ attacked _me.” 

“I did not _ attack _you,” Elizabeth replies, and Bargain Barbie snorts while the colour drains from Ugly Tie’s face, like he thinks fists are about to fly again. He teeters nervously at the edge of his seat. 

“Witnesses did say you pushed her face first into the cake display, Ms. Marks.” 

_ Witnesses _, Rio thinks with a grin. Like this is an episode of CSI. These people really are a trip. 

Elizabeth looks at Ugly Tie at that and then quickly paints on that Stepford look – the one that’s all Bambi Eyes and Molly Manners – the one that, despite himself, still makes his dick twitch. 

“Maybe I moved a little suddenly,” Beth allows. “But honestly, it was an accident, Ed - - can I call you Ed?” 

Ed pinks a little, stuttering out a _ yes _, and Rio has to resist the urge to snort. 

“I guess I was just a little swept up in the moment of it – you really do just run the best PTA fundraising bake off – and I mean, I’d know, because I’ve participated in more than my share, being an active member of the school community - - ” 

“You’re so full of shit,” Bargain Barbie snaps, arm flailing out of Seacrest’s grip, and honestly, Rio thinks, amused, she’s kind of got her there. Still, Ugly Tie holds up a hand to both of them, as if finding his train of thought again. 

“The reason we’ve called your partners in, is it seems like the fight stemmed from broader tensions between your families.” 

And that shuts them both up. 

Rio glances curiously over at the other couple, racking his head to think of any time Elizabeth’s so much as mentioned a _ Tania, _but he comes up blank. He knows there’s a Margot who’s trying to get the school on a raw food diet, and a Penny who always fights it when Elizabeth tries to move the school away from celebrating religious holidays (“It should be all or nothing,” Beth insists. “If the school is going to keep celebrating Christmas and Easter, why can’t they celebrate Eid and Diwali too? It’s 2019!” – apparently that’s her buzz phrase at the moment), but - - no Tania. 

“Anyone?” Ugly Tie asks them all now, and Elizabeth and Bargain Barbie both sit up a little taller, pointedly maintaining their silence, and damn, they’re more tight-lipped than half Rio’s boys. He eyes them both with a vague interest as Ugly Tie sighs. 

“Fine. A two week ban on all PTA activities,” he says, and Rio could almost laugh at the look of abject horror on both Elizabeth and Tania’s faces. “And you need to apologise to each other and to the other members of the PTA.” 

“Mr. Hollander, the Spring Fling Dance planning committee nominations are _ next week _,” Bargain Barbie cries, and Elizabeth opens her mouth probably to say something equally embarrassing, and Rio figures that’s probably their cue. He grabs Elizabeth by the elbow, lurching to his feet and dragging her up with him, and before she can dig her heels in in that way she does, he’s nodding at Ugly Tie in acknowledgement, saying a quick “Sounds fair,” and dragging them both out of the room. 

*** 

Turns out her sister’s shitty car had croaked again that morning, so Elizabeth had lent her the mama van on the condition she drop her for the bake off and pick up the brood after school, which is fine, he figures, pulling out of the school carpark, Elizabeth all tightly wound beside him in the passenger seat, her cheeks red and her posture stiff. 

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asks as he gets onto the main road. He really should go back to work, but fuck it, he thinks. There’s nothing on Demon can’t handle, and if there is, he knows how to reach him anyway. 

“No,” she snips, and Rio casts a look at her out of the corner of his eye, and it takes him a minute to realise that the red of her cheeks isn’t embarrassment like he’d figured, but rather that it’s still anger. It’s enough to make him shift in his seat – it ain’t like she doesn’t get mad, just she doesn’t usually get mad about PTA stuff, at least not like this – more just tense and exasperated and sometimes frustrated in a way he can usually diffuse if he looks at her or touches her right. But this - - 

He ain’t seen her like this recently. 

The car slows at the traffic lights, and he uses the opportunity to reach over, push her hair out of her face, run a thumb over one of the scratches at her temple. 

“Want me to call my sister? Get her to bring over a rabies shot?” 

It works like he’d wanted it to. Beth exhales a laugh, her gaze drifting over to him, watching as he takes his hand back to the steering wheel of the car. They get another couple of blocks when he feels it, the slow boil of her anger again, simmering beside him in the car, and they’re not even that far from home, but fuck it, he thinks, he doesn’t like the idea of her going straight into one of her furious cleaning or cooking frenzies, so he pulls over. 

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t react, not even when he turns in his seat to look at her, taking in the tight lock of her shoulders, the tighter one of her jaw. 

“Elizabeth,” he starts, and she looks out the window, away from him. “Come on, ma.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, like _ he’s _the one being ridiculous, and he pointedly pulls the keys out of the ignition, watching as she turns enough to scowl at him, folding her arms across her chest. Whatever. No skin off his nose, he thinks, leaning back against the driver’s side door, his eyes not leaving her, he’s got all day, and it’s only another minute, maybe two, before she’s flailing her arms in the air, her cheeks reddening all over again. 

“She called you a drug dealer,” Beth whisper-yells at him, like anyone can hear them in his car, and shit, is that all? Rio just laughs. 

“And you upset about that?” 

He knows she is – can see it in the heave of her (still frosting-covered) chest, in the way her lower lip quivers, her eyelashes clump. Can hear it in the tightness of her voice, and maybe he should’ve gotten her home first, gotten her on her back in their bed, breathless, legs trembling, made her forget about it the best way he knew how, but - - 

“She meant it as an insult,” she says hotly, interrupting his train of thought, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her, because _ no shit _. “And it’s not like she knows you are one. She thinks you work flipping cars with me.” 

“So what?” he asks, shrugging, and Elizabeth frowns over at him, finally turning around in her seat to face him. She’s still all flushed, flustered, and she seems pissed at _ him _now when she flails her arms out at him, and voice shrill, says: 

“So what? So - - so what if she says that sort of thing in front of her sons, who go to school with _ your _son. What if they tell all their friends about what Marcus’ daddy does for a living?” 

Shaking his head, Rio can’t quite take her eyes off her, because seriously – sometimes he thinks she figures he popped out of the ground the day he showed up in her kitchen, like Marcus did that day in the park. 

“Trust me, it won’t be nothin’ Marcus ain’t heard before.” 

And at least that shuts her up, her mouth closing, her posture sagging a little back against the passenger side door. He just watches her, briefly considering putting the keys back in the ignition and driving them home, but then - - he knows her enough to know that that ain’t all it is bothering her. He frowns at her, drums his fingers on his leg, and then looks away, something sharp spiking in his gut. 

“You worried about your kids?” he asks, voice a little tighter than he wants it to be, and when Beth shrugs, his frown deepens. 

“It’s a part of the deal,” he says. “Shit, you know what I look like, ma.” 

And she doesn’t reply to that either, and that sharpness in his gut peaks into something uncomfortable. He rocks forwards a little in his seat, using the momentum of it to sit back harder, to bump his back back against the door. 

“This a problem?” he asks her. “You want me to talk to the kids about how their new stepdad’s gonna make ‘em whispered about on the playground?” 

“I don’t care about the kids!” she yelps, and he blinks, unable to contain his surprise when she suddenly backpedals. “I mean, of course I do, that’s not - -” 

She exhales, the sound harsh in the hollow of his car, and she won’t look at him when she says: 

“She can’t talk about you like that. She doesn’t know anything about you.” 

And that’s - - not what he was expecting. He blinks at her, that sharpness in him dulling, squinting a little at her as he takes her in. 

“She can do whatever she wants, ma." 

Because shit, she can. Rio wouldn’t have wasted his time talking to her anyway, but hell, if she ain’t gonna pretend to make nice with other parents, he sure as hell ain’t either. 

“Fine,” Beth says finally, sniffing a little. “But actions have consequences, isn’t that what you’re always telling me?” 

He could almost laugh at that, because she’s right, he _ is _always telling her that, but he means it more in the context of handling a slippin’ employee, or her own tendency to steamroll into situations like she’s - - hell, like she’s one of their seven-year-olds. 

“And what? Talkin’ shit gonna get her hit?” 

“Yes,” Beth tells him firmly, nodding, sitting up a little straighter in her seat, her chin up, all defiant, and Rio snorts. 

“You all about defendin’ my honour now?” he says it patronisingly, expecting her to get embarrassed in that way she does when she thinks he’s making fun of her, but that’s not what happens at all. 

“Yes,” she says emphatically instead, and Rio blinks, surprised, and then before he can say anything else, she keeps talking. 

“I told you. She can’t talk about you like that, and I’m not going to let her. And just for the record, I _ like _the way you look, so.” 

She stops then, looking over at him briefly, then quickly turning around in the seat, facing forwards again, all prim again like there ain’t cake in her hair, and Rio can’t quite stop his grin. 

“Yeah, I knew that last one, ma,” he says, and Beth pinks, but she smiles, gaze finding him again. She bites her lip a little, looks up at him through her lashes, and Rio just - - shit. He can _ feel _how goofy his smile is, quickly tapering it into a smirk as best he can. 

“You really push her into that display?” he asks her after a minute of quiet, and Beth wrinkles her nose, blushing for real this time, but still. Something in her face, it’s a little proud. 

“Punched her too.” 

He arches an eyebrow, looking dutifully impressed, and she preens before she can help herself, holding up a hand at that so he can see the start of the bruises on her knuckles. He laughs, shaking his head, grabbing her hand to inspect it, and shit, if he doesn’t find them cute too – all dainty like her, little blooms of purple, like flower buds, and ugh. Even thinkin’ that, he shakes his head at himself, but presses his lips to them all the same, and he doesn’t hear it, or even see it, but some part of him feels her breath hitch, and it’s a relief really – that he can feel just how sprung she is too. 

“Okay, bruiser,” he tells her, twisting back in his seat, pushing the keys back into the ignition, and he goes to drop her hand, but she threads their fingers instead, and he holds it there, against his thigh, the whole ride home. 


	8. Fever Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: #68 “It’s called Netflix and Chill for a reason.” / #77 “What happened last night?”

“Jeez, what happened here last night?” Annie says from the doorway, and Beth spins on the spot, arms full of soiled bed sheets and just - - god, she hadn’t even heard her come in. She shrugs as best she can, her shoulders stiff, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion, and she’s pretty sure there’s vomit on the bottom of her pyjama shirt.

“Nothing fun,” she replies, moving enough to step awkwardly on the arm of an abandoned sippy cup. She has to bite back a cry at the sharp pain in her foot, leaning down to grab it up off the floor, and at least it hasn’t leaked, she thinks. It’s still mostly full – Jane must’ve dropped it when Rio carried her out twenty-odd minutes ago.

Vaguely she can hear them all – or not them, but whatever Rio had managed to find on Netflix (and god, at least all of them being this tired and this sick seems to have curbed any energy they had to bicker about the choice if they’re already watching something), the sounds of a Disney score and some earnest heroine drifting up the stairs to their bedroom.

“They all went down,” Beth says, voice almost a whine. “Like dominoes.”

She must sound really pathetic, because Annie drops her bag and her takeaway coffee cup to Beth and Rio’s dresser, and promptly does a lap of the room – grabbing up the pyjamas Danny had fever-sweat his way out of at three am, and the dubby – which Beth had had to pry from Jane’s sobbing-grip after she’d thrown up on it, the tossed aside thermometer Marcus had thrashed away from, the tear and saliva-wet throw pillow Emma had been nestled into.

The only one of the kids who’d avoided the takedown – purely because he wasn’t there – was Kenny, but the thought of that just sparks irritation in Beth’s gut. She’s not sure who Dean’s been talking to lately, but he’s gotten it into his head that he should be having ‘male bonding time’ with Kenny – dropping in whenever he’s back in town to take him to god knows where. He’d swung through yesterday morning, promising a good old father-son outing before turning around and telling Danny he was too little to go with them.

There had been tears then, of course, and a white-hot fury in Beth’s veins that Dean was as immune to as he’d ever been. It had taken her almost an hour to calm Danny down after Dean and Kenny had left, and then Rio – more than a little unimpressed with Dean himself – springing a surprise trip to the science centre on the rest of the kids to calm _Beth _down.

And it had apparently been fun – Beth hadn’t gone, she’d already had plans with Ruby – until sometime after dinner when Marcus’ sweet little face had gone green.

“Like Patient Zero,” Annie says with a wince when Beth tells her, the two of them having made their way down to the laundry, piling bedclothes and sheets into the washing machine. Annie pauses with a particularly soiled polka-dot t-shirt. “Want to keep one of these out? We could plant it in Dean’s car when he drops Kenny off.”

Rolling her eyes, Beth snatches it out of Annie’s hand, shoving it into the washing machine and reaching for the detergent.

“I don’t even want to look at him right now,” Beth says. “If he’d just taken Danny too…”

She trails off, shaking her head, as Annie snorts beside her.

“Yeah, but that would require him to have like, a modicum of a clue.”

“Modicum?”

“It was on Ben's word of the day calendar.”

Beth grins, switching on the washing machine and starting back towards the stairs, Annie on her heels.

“The worst part is Rio got it too.”

And it really was the worst part of it, because none of them would even have caught it at all if it wasn’t for Dean being his usual insensitive self. Still, Rio had somehow managed to play nurse to the kids with Beth while dripping with a cold sweat himself, discreetly slipping into their en suite a few times and coming back pale, but steady handed enough to pull Emma’s hair out of her face as she cried into an ice-cream container full of puke.

“I can’t even imagine that guy sick,” Annie replies, following Beth back into her bedroom, and grabbing her coffee. She watches as Beth walks out across the room, grabbing one of the containers of puke off the floor and then follows her into the bathroom and watches as Beth pours it out into the toilet. The combination of the sound and the rancid smell is enough to make them both dry heave, and when Beth finds her stomach again, ready to keep going, Annie stops her with a hand to her wrist.

“Hey, not to be an asshole or anything, but you look like shit.”

And great, Beth thinks, rocking her jaw and giving her sister the most unimpressed face that she can manage.

“Thanks, Annie, in case you - -”

But Annie interrupts her sharply before she can keep going.

“That’s not what I - - I’m just saying – you should go hang out with them. Watch the movie. Get some rest. I can finish this stuff up.”

Beth blinks, reeling back a little in surprise, checking Annie’s face for any hint of a joke, but all she sees is earnestness.

“So what? You want me to go _Netflix and Chill_ with them and leave you to clean up?” Beth says, gesturing back to her bedroom, and when she turns around, Annie’s squinting at her.

“I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

It’s enough to make her squint back in reply, and she can see it, Annie biting back her grin. Pride won’t let her ask what it _does _mean then, but Beth makes a mental note to ask Ruby next time she sees her. After a minute, Annie shrugs.

“Seriously, B. If I know one thing about sick kids, it’s that they want their mom, and if I know one thing about gangfriend, it’s that he just like, generally wants you, so I can only imagine how much he wants to nestle his fevered head into your boob pillows right now and have you take the pain away, and look, this –” she gestures around Beth’s en suite and then out towards her bedroom at the mess still to clean up. “I can do, but that – ” she gestures to Beth’s breasts. “I can’t. For many reasons.”

Beth rolls her eyes, but she can’t lie, it does sound better than all of this. She frowns, but she still lets Annie nudge her towards the shower, and once she’s clean and dressed in a pair of leggings and a baggy, blush-pink sweater, she lets Annie nudge her down towards the family room too.

And it’s almost sweet, she thinks, biting back her smile, seeing Rio planted on the couch, Jane and Marcus nestled into his chest, Emma on the floor at his feet, her cheek pressed into his calf, and Danny on the other side of the couch. If it weren’t for the dull eyes and pale cheeks of all of them, she’d be grabbing her phone to take a picture. She steps through into the room, watching as Ariel brushes her hair with a fork on the television, and gets to the couch, heaving Danny up into her arms and then dropping down to the couch, pulling him into her lap.

“How you feeling, honey?” she whispers, and Danny mumbles something she can’t interpret and drops bodily back against her chest, leaving her with a mouthful of sweaty hair, and she brushes it down with her hand before glancing over at Rio, who’s staring back at her now, his glassy eyes half-lidded, his gaze almost lazy.

_Hi_, she mouths, and she’s not sure what she’s expecting, but it’s not for him to raise his hand from the back of Jane’s head, to reach over, stroke the back of his fingers down the side of Beth’s face. Her breath hitches, her chin tilting, following his touch when he shifts it away and he watches her quietly, before his hand drifts around to trace over the back of her neck, then further, over to her furthest shoulder, then down her arm, hooking there. And it’s sudden – and with a strength he really shouldn’t have when he’s this sick – when he pulls her into his side, tugging her down the couch towards him until she collides with his body.

She practically falls into his side, Danny still on her lap, Jane spreading out, so she’s half across Rio and half across Beth too, almost kicking her sister in the head in the process, and Beth huffs out a laugh, moving awkwardly to reposition herself, finding herself swallowed up in this pile of family, Rio firm at her side.

“You better not make me sick too,” she whispers, sitting up a little straighter, his arm now draped over her shoulders, her body pressed into his. The words are enough to make Rio grin down at her, leaning over to nip a little at her cheek and then kiss her deeply, his mouth pepperminty from when he brushed his teeth, and Beth sinks into it before she can help herself. A chorus of _ewws _from the kids echo up around them and she can feel Rio laugh into her mouth, at least until they hear a bang, a slosh, and Annie cussing upstairs.


	9. Darkness on the Edge of Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: The first time that the power goes out at the new house. Is it just the two of them? Does Rio insist that they need to eat the ice cream? Does Beth discover that they have a really great back-up generator she had no idea about?

“Honey, can you just stop - - can you stop _moving_ it?”

“I’m not moving it,” Kenny insists, lifting the flashlight up a little higher, and Beth exhales sharply, struggling to light the next candle with Danny pushed up against her side, his hands bunched up in the fabric of her blouse. She drops her free hand to his hair, watching him blink owlishly up at her as she tries to firm her step.

“Honey, it’s okay,” she coos, and Danny just shakes his head, burying his face in her side again and almost lurching her sideways, and just - - she could _kill_ Annie.

God, Rio almost _had_ when they’d gotten home from a late meeting with a new client last week to Danny bug-eyed on the living room floor between Kenny and Ben, the new _Chucky _movie on the TV, and Annie sprawled out and snoring on the couch.

(And Annie had been apologetic, she _had_ – she’d really thought Danny was asleep, but just - - as Rio had said: “Yeah, okay, but you got an R-rated movie on the TV and a houseful o’ seven people, and you the only one old enough to watch it.”)

It had put Danny squarely in Beth and Rio’s bed for the better part of the week since, his skinny body all elbows and knees between them, twitchy eyed and wobbly lipped with nightmares. He’d only gone back to his own bed when Rio had taken him by the hand the other day and shown him all (or – well, _almost_ all) the different parts of the security system – all the ways he’d made sure it’d keep them safe.

(“See?” he’d said, when he’d thought Beth couldn’t hear. “I ain’t cuttin’ no corners. Besides, you think I’d let anythin’ happen to you or your brother or your sisters?”

Danny had just shaken his head adamantly enough that Rio had grinned, ruffling his hair.

“Like to see that damn doll try,” he’d added quietly, with a put-upon gruffness, and Danny had erupted into giggles at around the same time Beth had – blowing her own cover, but whatever, the thought of Rio facing off against a Chucky doll would fuel her for weeks).

And honestly, Beth didn’t doubt Rio’s ability to keep the kids safe for a second, but after tonight the jury was still out on the security system. She inhales an irritated breath, her skin prickly, trying to shrug her hair back over her shoulder, only to get more annoyed when it immediately flops back. Somewhere behind her, she hears a bang.

“Jane, Marcus, it’s inside play, not outside play, okay?” she calls back, turning enough to see the glow of one of their toy lightsabres (it had been the closest thing to a flashlight she’d been able to find in the moment), when Danny tightens his grip on her waist into a near stranglehold. 

“Let mom go, you’re being a baby,” Kenny says, holding the flashlight up a little higher, away from the matchbox in her hands, and Danny immediately yells something or other back about _not being a baby_, and Beth drops the matchsticks back to the living room side table, sucking in a tetchy breath. She stands up a little straighter, her newly freed hand going to pry at Danny’s arm as she prepares a speech in her head, ready to diffuse the oncoming fight when something long, hard and narrow hits the back of her legs, almost sending her straight into the row of candles she’s just lit. She gasps, pushing Danny out of the way of them, only to catch herself in time, looking around to see Marcus and Jane still mid-battle with their lightsabres. 

“’Ey,” Rio says before Beth can even think anything more of it, his voice gruff, and Beth’s gaze darts sideways, surprised to see him walking back into the living room, lit up blue beneath the glow of Jane’s lightsabre. “Careful of your mom.”

“It’s dark,” Jane replies tartly, and Beth rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to the candles, Danny re-gluing himself to her waist, but Rio must give her a look, because suddenly Jane’s mumbling out an apology and passing her lightsabre up to Rio.

“Any luck?” she asks, lighting another candle, glancing back at him, and Rio shakes his head, Emma’s arms still clinging to his shoulders like a baby koala. Beth frowns, rubbing a hand at her chest, trying to will it looser. She feels too tight, irritable, claustrophobic almost, desperately wants to breathe the air outside of the house but doesn’t think that’s going to be an option any time soon.

The lights have been out for almost twenty minutes – a fact of which should be an easy fix – a toggle with the fuse box on the side of the house or a matter solved by flipping on the generator outside (they’re up to date with the bill after all, Beth reminds herself, had checked on her phone once, twice, maybe three times, it’s - - no, _stop_), only, as it turns out, the high tech security system Rio had _insisted _that they buy – the very expensive, high tech security system – goes into instant lockdown mode when the power blows, meaning they have to call through to Cal’s office for it to be unlocked remotely.

Cal’s office, which is currently not answering their calls.

“So we’re stuck,” Beth says, turning away from him, lighting another candle, and he huffs out a tense breath behind her. He’s been upstairs for the last ten minutes fiddling with their internal security box, trying to call Cal, and she can only imagine how much he’s had to keep his temper in check, especially with Emma as an audience (she had insisted on going upstairs with him). But then, Beth feels she’s keeping her own temper in check too. Can feel it, bristling beneath her skin, demanding her attention like Danny at her waist, and the thing is, she’s not even entirely sure _why_.

“I’m gonna keep callin’,” Rio says, and Beth sighs, shakes her head, lights another candle.

“You’ve left him about a hundred messages, he’ll call you back eventually, and you need to have enough charge on your phone for when he does, since _apparently _he doesn’t have my number.”

And okay, maybe her tone was a little sharp on that one, but even below the candlelight she can see the muscles in his jaw work, one hand clenched around Jane’s lightsabre, the other behind him, holding Emma to his back.

“I told you, darlin’, as long as you insist on _one phone_, your number ain’t one that’s gettin’ distributed.”

She rolls her eyes at that, because she’s really not in the mood to argue about this again tonight. She doesn’t entirely disagree – she’d even had two phones briefly, but Annie had kept texting her on the wrong one for the wrong things, and then _Beth_ had taken the wrong one to a meeting and Jane had needed to be picked up from school because she’d thrown up on the playground and she hadn’t known until Dean had had to pick her up, and she’d never heard the end of it and just - - the guilt of it - - it was easier just to have one.

Easier for everyone but Rio at least, who was constantly prickly about it and had ensured her phone number was on a _needs-to-know _basis as a result.

“I’ve called Annie, but she’s at work,” Beth says, changing the topic, feeling Danny’s arms tighten around her waist again. “So she can’t come by to flip anything until after midnight, and Ruby and Stan are out of town for Ruby’s brothers wedding.”

His third, but who’s counting? Ruby promises she’s just going for the bar tab.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Marcus throw away his own lightsabre and run up and pounce on a pouting Jane, and then suddenly they’re rolling around on the floor, and just - - god, Beth does _not _have the energy right now to break that up.

“You could call your sisters,” she adds, fumbling with the matchbox, and Rio gives her a look that says _what, so I can never hear the end of it from them too? _And good, Beth thinks spitefully. At least he knows he’ll never hear the end of it from her either.

“Demon?” she tries instead. “Dags? Bullet?”

But the look on his face tells her there’s even less of a chance of that happening, and Jesus, she thinks, _men and their egos. _

“So this half a mi - -” she glances sideways at the kids. “This _very expensive _security system that you told me we _had _to have has now basically made us prisoners in our own home?”

He clenches his jaw at that, stares at her, and Beth tilts up her chin, arches an eyebrow, because _seriously_. And maybe it’s still a sticking point, whatever – they’ve only lived here a few months after all, and the memory of him hiding it from her, the fight they’d had afterwards that had never fully been resolved, still feels a little raw.

“If someone outside right now had cut the power, this’d be what we needed,” Rio hisses quietly, gesturing briefly with the lightsabre towards the kids, and Beth exhales a laugh, throwing the matches down onto the side table again, and she opens her mouth, but - - god, they really shouldn’t be having this fight in front of the kids.

Instead, she just stares at Rio, eyebrow raised in a way that she hopes says _what if somebody was already in the house? _And Rio returns the look with one that seems to say _If they’re cutting the power, they can’t get in. That’s the point _and then they’re just in a quasi-staring contest as Marcus and Jane roll around their feet and Danny and Emma cling to them and Kenny just shifts his gaze between them uncomfortably until Rio finally exhales a laugh, breaking up the quiet. 

“Okay,” he says, flipping the lightsabre easily in his hand to offer the handle of it to Danny, as he shifts Emma around his back to his hip. “You want to take this and help me out?”

Danny glances up at him, and then back at Beth, and after a beat, let’s go of Beth’s waist, reaching for the lightsabre instead. Almost immediately, Rio gently deposits Emma in Beth’s arms in his place.

“Why don’t you ladies stay down here, yeah?”

And Beth opens her mouth to reply, but doesn’t get the chance to, because next thing she knows Rio’s grabbing Jane too from where she’s currently sitting on Marcus, making her squawk, dropping her at Beth’s feet before grabbing Marcus off the floor, and swinging him up and over his shoulder. He gently pats Danny on the back, and then tilts his head at Kenny.

“You guys want to come upstairs? Round up some lights? Think I got some battery packs in me and your ma’s study.”

The boys all agree, chattering wildly, and Beth watches as they race out of the room into the darkened hallway, heading for the stairs. Rio stops just enough to nod a little tightly at Beth before he heads up behind them, which only causes Jane to frown darkly, running to follow. As quickly as she can manage it, Beth grabs her by the hood of her bunny rabbit pyjamas, lugging her back, because she knows a move to separate Jane and Marcus when she sees it, and honestly, Beth’s frayed nerves are more than a little grateful.

“Hey,” she tries, bouncing Emma a little on her hip and painting on her best mommy smile. “Who wants to make a blanket fort?”

*

It had been a joke.

A hundred years ago, originated by Annie or Ruby, Beth couldn’t remember, but it was one they all made. That Beth would bake for anxiousness and knit for peace, and it wasn’t exactly right – Beth’s baked at her happiest too, more than a few times at her drunkest, and she’s knit pissed off and earnest and grief-struck too. The difference is that there’s no reminders with the cooking. Any feeling attached to a batch of cookies or a pie or an upside down cake forgotten with every bite.

The problem with the knitting is that it’s never swallowed, never consumed, so it’s always there to be unpacked. Her kids wrap themselves up in it. Annie and Ruby too. Until all Beth can see is the way she felt when she made the thing – hanging off the shoulders of the people she loves. Remembers sewing Sara’s blanket terrified the kidney wouldn’t take, the scarf she knit for Ruby’s birthday, the first year they were friends – embarrassed she couldn’t afford a real present. Remembers knitting Jane’s dubby when she was still clawing out of post-partum with Emma, desperately trying to feel anything but dread over her new pregnancy. 

And seeing Jane and Emma trundle out to the hallway linen closet, pulling out blanket after blanket feels like an unpacking of feelings in a way that does nothing to ease Beth’s already frayed nerves. But still, she thinks, sucking in a breath, watching Emma pull out the cream knit throw Beth had made only recently – the one she’d wanted to tie together Rio’s black leather couch and her own soft, pigeon-egg lamps – maybe it’s not all bad.

“How big are we going to make it?” Beth asks, and Jane practically bounces on her heels, arms full of blankets as she follows Beth down into the dining room. It doesn’t take them long to set it up – Beth well-versed in the making of forts. She grabs a few dining room chairs, a handful of pegs from the laundry room, the girls giggling as she drapes knit throw after knit throw across the chairs, securing old anxieties and joys with pegs and ribbons until the fort is done.

She sends the girls off to collect cushions and pillows, watching as they load up the inside until it’s practically overflowing, and it’s only when the girls are collapsed back into them, giggling and chattering, that Beth crawls in too.

It’s soft inside, warm and dark, the splutter of the fireplace a hazy glow outside of it, the flicker of the candles practically invisible. Jane plays a little with the flashlight, propping it up in the pillows, facing up to light up the sagging roof of the fort, and it casts the space into a hazy, muted light, just enough to ward off the blackest parts of the night. It makes them look somehow warmer than they are – something old fashioned and a little eerie, and it reminds Beth of - - well.

Of a long time ago.

She falls back onto the pillows, Emma wriggling up beside her while Jane throws herself down bodily too, kicking her legs out in boredom and it’s just like Annie used to do, back when she was small, and for some reason the thought makes Beth look away, makes her frown, her skin prickling again with a feeling she can’t name, the one that’s nudged at her since the lights went out.

Instead, she trains her ears upstairs, listening for the boys’ laughter, Kenny’s voice travelling loud and excited, and then Rio’s voice too, muffled but light, melodic in it’s contentment talking to the boys, and god, she was unfair, she knows she was, it’s just - -

“Mommy, I’m bored,” Jane says, rolling over into Beth’s hip.

“Only boring people get bored,” Emma sing-songs, and Beth sighs when she sees Jane clock the implication of her sister’s words and turn about nine shades of furious red, and Beth quickly interjects.

“Well, why don’t you show me some of the dance moves you guys have been learning in class?”

“There’s no music,” Emma huffs, and Jane adamantly agrees.

“You don’t need music to dance,” Beth says. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

She wriggles them out of the blanket fort until they’re back in the living room, and promptly picks Jane up off the floor, holding her at her waist and twirling her around, fast enough Jane’s hair whips out like a scarf, and her daughter immediately erupts into delighted giggles.

“See,” Beth says with a grin, and Emma immediately bounds off the couch, holding her arms up towards Beth.

“Do me too!”

And Beth shifts Jane onto her hip, before crouching down to awkwardly hook Emma over her other one and rise – wobbly – back to her feet. They really are getting too big for this, but still – she manages a couple of good twirls, careful to avoid the candles, singing the _turn around, bright eyes _part of _Total Eclipse of the Heart _just to make the girls laugh and start belting out the words too, an uncanny echo in the dark.

After that, she’s lowering them to the floor, and the three of them are dancing, hands clasped together, something silly and light, and the thing is, the second she is, it’s not Jane’s hand or Emma’s, it’s Annie’s and she just - - she remembers this – remembers the nights after her dad left when her mom forgot to pay the electricity bill, and back before Ruby knew it all - - back when Beth was too embarrassed to go to hers when it got like that. Back when all that was important in Beth’s life was Annie, was making her feel safe, making her happy, in the long shadow that their parents cast, and suddenly she’s a little breathless, the strange feeling prickling at her skin all night suddenly named, but she’s singing louder, clinging to the moment, and it’s not until Jane let’s go of her hand that Beth’s jerked out of the memory.

“No, like this,” Jane insists, and Beth glances over, surprised to see Marcus there now too, Jane giggling as she dances with him – a sort of hip-swivelling chicken dance that makes Beth grin a little too wildly, and pull her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans with her freehand, snap a couple of quick pictures and then a little video to send to Annie and Ruby later, and just - - god, she doesn’t even notice Rio watching her until she spots him watching her, his legs spread, his body lax, sitting on the couch beside Kenny.

And oh, Beth thinks, looking at him, the way she’d snapped at him hot on her tongue. She offers him a half smile she hopes is apologetic, and he returns it enough, leaning forwards in his seat to watch them better, and it’s only then that Emma springs forwards, reaching out to grab Rio’s hands and pull him up, dragging him over to Beth.

“You guys should dance,” Emma insists, and Beth raises her eyebrows at her daughter.

“Honey - -”

But before she can get any further, all the kids are agreeing, and Beth can feel more than see Rio looking at her and then closing the distance between them.

“Don’t wanna dance with me, ma?” he asks, and Beth looks at him, huffs out a breath, and awkwardly places her hands on his shoulders, his own finding the curve of her waist, squeezing slightly.

The kids aren’t singing, maybe don’t know what to without her guidance, and Beth just shuffles her feet, and - - god, she can’t remember the last time she’s danced with somebody who hadn’t come out of her, and she just moves a little awkwardly on the spot and Rio just sort of sways in front of her, matching her own non-rhythm, and she blinks hard because this is just - - _painful_, really.

And apparently it’s as bad for the kids as it is for them, because suddenly Jane’s making a loud noise of disdain that makes Rio’s eyes flutter shut briefly in annoyance, his hands squeezing her waist.

“You guys are bad,” Jane yells, abandoning Marcus and grabbing Emma’s hand instead to pull her along with her. Beth and Rio both watch as Jane bosses Emma into position, holding onto her hands and then starting what could very almost be a waltz, and just - -

“What do they teach you in these classes?” she asks curiously, amusement tinged in her voice, because she certainly hasn’t seen _this _in any tulle and glitter hairsprayed recital. The question is enough to make Jane look back up at her, a confused and more than a little judgemental look on her face.

“Dance,” she says, matter of fact, and Rio snorts, and Beth glances over at him, eyebrow raised, and he just sucks in his lips, faux serious as he picks up the one-two-step of the waltz. As soon as he starts to lead, it’s a little too easy to follow, to let him guide the steps of this dance, and just - - god, she doesn’t think she’s danced like this since her wedding day.

“You’ve done this before,” she says after a moment, and Rio looks at her.

“You forgettin’ I got sisters?”

She rolls her eyes, steps back, lets him come towards her, and when he does this time he holds her a little tighter, moves a little more into her space, until all she can smell is the heady scent of him, until all she can feel is him, all she can hear is him, and he’s not even speaking and when does it end? When does his touch stop making her feel electric, when does the sharpness of this thing between them blunt? The light she sees when she’s with him dull? It has to happen eventually, she knows it does, because Beth has never been a romantic, she’s never believed in the fairytales she’s told her children, that she told Annie, on nights like this, has always traded in reality shows not love stories, but - - she exhales, feeling the steady warmth of his hand of his hand on her hip – sometimes it doesn’t feel like her life had started before him.

And other times, like tonight, it feels like - -

“What you thinkin’ about?”

His voice is little more than a mumble, low and deep, rolling, and Beth pushes her hands up off his shoulders, curling them around his neck instead.

“You spending half a million dollars on a security system that doesn’t work,” she hums, body still moving softly with his touch, and Rio bares his teeth at her a little when he laughs, and she hates that she loves it.

“Liar,” he replies, and then it’s Ruby in her ear – who she can hear loud and clear, saying _have you tried just talking to each other? _like she has a million times before, but Ruby doesn’t understand. God, half the time _Beth _doesn’t understand.

In the dusty half-light of the candles, she can see the plains of his sharp face, the line of his nose, the cliffs of his cheekbones, the fan of his feather-soft eyelashes – Beth knows, she’s felt them, on her shoulder, on her cheek, on the insides of her thighs when he’s laid his head there. When she’s brushed her thumb across them. She wants to again now, almost does when Rio shifts back.

“Gonna give me a spin?”

He picks up one of her hands off his neck, holds it up in the air for her to move beneath like she’s the ballerina in Emma’s music box, and Beth flushes as she moves, turning beneath his arm, her fingers spinning in his, and when she’s finished, he’s closer than before, his chest brushing hers, and he hasn’t let go of her hand yet, and she thinks she could lean in and kiss him – wants to, suddenly, more than anything, and she sees his tongue dart out to lick his lips, and all it would take would be for her to lean up - - and - -

“MWA MWA MWA”

Beth blinks, glances over at where Jane is fake making out with a squirming, blushing Emma, and Danny and Marcus are giggling and Kenny’s looking vaguely mortified, and Beth coughs, blushing, but Rio’s saying “Yeah yeah,” and grabbing Beth’s chin to plant a fast, hard, chaste kiss on Beth’s lips just to make the kids all squeal, and Beth gives him an amused look before hitting him lightly on the chest.

“Who wants ice cream?” Rio asks, clapping his hands together, and then the kids are squealing all over again for a whole new reason, and darting out of the living room towards the kitchen.

“Ice cream this close to bedtime? Who are you?” she asks, amused, and Rio shrugs.

“It’s gonna melt anyway. Might save some for us later though,” he says, pushing gently against her, nose at her temple, voice at her ear. “Gets a little messy, when it’s meltin’. Might need to take this off.”

He hooks his finger in the neck of her blouse, and Beth grins up at him before she quickly schools her expression, paints it, faux innocent. She nods in agreement.

“Ice cream’s hard to get out after all.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, voice lowering again. “Easy to lick off though.”

She moves to slap him again, but he’s already darted out of reach, grabbing Jane on his way through to lug her towards the kitchen and out of sight.

*

She wakes up to an aching back and a cell phone vibrating at her thigh. It’s enough to make her shift, to toss an arm out – surprised, when it gets gently folded back into her chest, another hand groping at her thigh for the phone and it’s only then that she realises it isn’t her phone at all but Rio’s. He sits up beside her among all the pillows inside the blanket fort, careful not to disrupt her, or Marcus and Danny, who are both curled up on his other side, as he answers it.

“Yeah?”

His voice is little more than a whisper, voice hoarse with sleep, lowered, so as not to wake anyone, but Beth’s already rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she looks up at him, his features shadowed in the darkness.

“Okay. Yeah. See, we gonna need to have a little talk coz I didn’t pay this sorta money for a security system to be held hostage to it, and I ain’t payin’ you to not answer my calls.”

She can hear the tinny chatter even from her position on the floor, her back arched awkwardly beneath a throw pillow, Emma snoring at her back. She snuffles a little, reaching over, fumbling a bit for her own phone, seeing that it’s quarter past one, and dammit. She forgot to text Annie to confirm she wanted her to come over to flip the fuse. She drops her phone back down with a sigh, the thought of Annie clenching in her chest again, and it’s okay, Beth reminds herself. Everyone’s okay. Everyone is safe.

Better than okay, better than just safe.

Everyone she loves is happy.

As if on cue, Rio scoffs above her, his fingers twitching at his thigh, and, half-asleep, Beth almost thinks of reaching out to hold them in her own, but - - she looks away, clenches her own fingers at her belly instead. Looking up, she can see all her knitted blankets sagging heavily above them – one has even come unpegged, hangs ominously down the back. It was the one she knit when she was pregnant with Danny, she thinks, the end frayed, her finishing lines not as good yet as they are now, and Beth has to blink away the memory, the association, wishes she was better at knowing how to.

After a moment, Rio mumbles out something that sounds vaguely threatening before he hangs up, dropping his cell back to the pillows and rubbing briefly, furiously at his face. He looks out over the kids, then back to her, and he doesn’t seem surprised to see her awake and staring back up at him, her blue eyes still a little glazed with sleep.

“House is unlocked,” Rio tells her, lying back down beside her, and Beth nods at him, watching as he shifts back down among the pillows, careful to avoid disturbing the kids. He’s still settling when Beth turns, just slightly, towards him, careful not to push her daughters away.

It’s too easy just to watch him for a moment, to see the way the darkness laps at his skin – the only light from the still flickering candles on the TV cabinet and the sideboard, the dying embers of the fire. They do little to ward off the night, but enough she can see the fan of Rio’s lashes again and the slick line his tongue leaves when it darts out to wet his lips.

“Good,” Beth whispers. “Did they say why they weren’t answering?”

Rio huffs out an unimpressed breath as he nods, pushing his shoulders back into the pillows, his back arching a little before collapsing back down - - making himself comfortable.

“Outages affected ‘em too.”

“Not really an excuse to not answer their cells,” Beth says, and Rio hums in agreement, pushing his head sideways in the pillow until he’s looking directly at her. 

“Which is why they gonna get a visit tomorrow. Shit, later today, I guess.”

Beth nods, little more than a jerk of her chin, and Rio seems to be waiting for her to say something else – a _told you so _of some description probably, but Beth suddenly doesn’t have the energy for it. She thinks she should turn away, should go back to sleep, or get up and put the kids back in their actual beds, but then maybe she doesn’t have the energy for that either.

So she just stays there, looking at him, looking at her, her mind briefly, blissfully blank. He trails his fingers over her arm, ghosts across her shoulders, his hand slipping into the front of her blouse. Beth turns to look at him, but he doesn’t grope her, doesn’t do anything more than sink his fingers just below the lace of her bra and rest his hand flat against her chest, feeling it rise and sink beneath with her every breath.

So he must feel it - - the way her breath hitches, her eyes searching his face, but all he looks is soft, gentle, like he is too often with her, just - - like this him she feels she’s starting to know too well.

And then - - just - - she wants to say she’s sorry, but she doesn’t know how.

She wants to tell him that it was the blackout, that she was thinking about Annie, that she wasn’t mad at him, not really, that sometimes all her baggage bursts open without her even realising, wants to say - - something. _Anything_. But the words coat her teeth like honey, make cavities to bury themselves into.

Still she opens her mouth, feels her chest heave beneath his hand, flush when no words come out, and she’s about to scrape something together when Rio stops her. 

“’s okay,” he says, voice deep, husky still with sleep. “You don’t gotta say it.”

And she blinks, eyes casting over his face.

“Who said I was going to say anything?” she replies softly, because she can’t help herself - - is relieved, almost, that she can speak at all, and Rio’s eyes just crinkle at the side as he looks at her.

He hums a little, shifts closer to her, careful not to disrupt the kids sprawled all around them. His hand grips her suddenly the top of her breast, before softening again, gently tugging there instead, coaxing her onto her side, until she’s facing him too, her daughters shifting behind her, at the change in space.

“’Ey,” he says. Then adds: “Good mornin’.”

Beth blinks, exhales a little, forehead furrowing as Rio leans in to kiss her softly, his lips warm, soft, familiar.

“Like wakin’ up with you,” he says against her mouth.

“Yeah?” she breathes, a little wobbly, feeling his hand move enough to undo the top button of her blouse, then the second, give him enough room to cup her breast over her bra. He practically purrs into her mouth and Beth shivers before she can stop herself.

“The kids are here,” she whispers, and Rio nods.

“I’m keepin’ it PG, don’t worry. We can up the ratin’ later, yeah? Get ‘em to school,” he kisses her again. “Play hooky.”

He pulls away just enough to look up at the blanket fort, sucks in his lower lip.

“Leave this here til’ we done in it.”

Beth rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the heat that runs through her at the thought, wrinkling her nose at him instead, and before she can open her mouth to reply, Rio leans in to kiss her again, and Beth just - - she melts into him.

“I like waking up with you too,” she whispers, and he grins against her mouth, hand pushing out of her blouse to drift down her side, squeeze her waist, pull her closer to him, and Beth just feels - - _warm _and maybe - - maybe she feels safe. Maybe she feels happy too. Maybe he makes her feel that way. In her belly, her chest, her veins, like he’s pulled off her skin and climbed inside her, and the feeling hits her so suddenly, so intensely, she almost reels back, but instead presses closer.

And it might not be forever.

Beth doesn’t know if she’ll ever believe in forevers, but right now she can’t think of anyplace she’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the Bruce Springsteen song


	10. Graveyard Smash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: It’s officially ~spooky szn~ which means we need a brio Halloween fic, pleaaasee!! Like can you imagine Beth insisting on making costumes for all five kids??

Haha, happy spooky season, anon. Hope you like it. :-) 

** [Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fseries%2F1416943&t=MjkyNTM0YWVhMWFjMjk2MmYyNWZlOTU5ODc2NzNiMGU2NjFkMzM1NSwxRDFFUFZDdA%3D%3D&b=t%3ATKrCJFCpe2B1CqbFTIPFjw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fpynkhues.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F187340804249%2Ffluffangst-prompt-for-brio-any-of-these-would-be&m=1) **

“You know, I actually think it looks kind of cool,” Annie tells her, eyes on Beth’s blue-dyed fingers as Beth fiddles with her makeup palette, comparing the shades of skin toned foundation a few shades lighter than Annie’s own. “Like you’ve been finger banging one of those aliens from _Avatar _or something.”

And just - - _god. _Beth blanches before she can stop herself, stopping in her ministrations long enough to shoot Annie a look, before refocusing on the task at hand.

“Please never say that again,” Beth says, shaking her head as she throws a dash of grey face paint into her mixing palette with the foundation – gets it all thick and moonish. She tests it a little on her own hand before grabbing her make-up brush, lathering it up and starting on Annie’s face.

“Fine, sorry I’m trying to make your weird blue monster hands less terrifying.”

Rolling her eyes, Beth uses those weird blue monster hands to lay the first layer of ghoulish foundation on Annie’s face. It’s not like Beth isn’t used to it anyway – has dyed enough fabric in her time to know that dying your hands is just an unfortunate side effect. Still, she’s tried everything to get it off – all her tried and true measures, but nothing’s worked, so Beth has resigned herself to the fact that it’s just going to take time.

It’d all been worth it anyway – to see Marcus’ face light up as soon as his eyes had locked onto the Captain America costume. She feels like she’s spent the better part of the month making costumes – dying and sewing and cutting up fabrics, and sure, it’d been exhausting, but somehow not as exhausting as previous years, even with the extra one to make. And god, as weird as it is to think about, she’s pretty sure that that comes down to Rio more than anything else. The second he’d realised he couldn’t talk her out of making them from scratch herself, he’d been more helpful than she thinks even he’d realised – whether that was in organising dinner so she could work on them, or stopping by the craft store, or distracting the kids so she could work, or even just staying up with her, reading on the couch while Beth poured over her sewing machine, taking them both to bed when she stopped making any sense.

“All I’m saying is you could throw something together if you really wanted to come out with us,” Annie says, sucking in her lips when Beth does in instruction, twitching back when Beth paints the make-up hard over her mouth. And Beth knows she shouldn’t be annoyed by this – knows there’s no accusation there, no shame, more just a double check that Beth is really happy for Annie to take the kids trick or treating without her.

It’d become something of a tradition years ago – that Annie would show up and bundle all the kids together and take them out – her endless energy when candy was involved meaning they didn’t turn around until all the kids were dragging their feet, instead of after three or four houses when Beth’s own exhaustion from the lead-up would inevitably start begging her for bed. Annie was forever the Fun Aunt, and Beth was forever - - well, not the _Boring _Mom, but the Mom Mom. The mom you wanted making costumes, not the one you wanted tagging along to trick or treating and asking if you _really _needed that extra houseworth of candy, and honestly? Beth was pretty much fine with that.

Anyway, Annie had seemed extra keen this year.

(“With this new neighbourhood?” Annie had said with a scoff when she’d offered. “You _know _they’re handing out the good stuff, and Ben deserves every opportunity to gorge on fancy candy as your kids do.”

“Ben?” Beth asked, arching an eyebrow, and Annie had replied with a shit-eating grin.)

“I’m good,” Beth says now. “Seriously. I have a date with a glass of bourbon, a pizza and whatever spooky movie is playing on TV.”

“You know you don’t have to play Russian Roulette with basic cable anymore, you can actually like, choose your spooky movie now. It’s through this brand-new start-up – I think it’s called - - Netfilm - - no wait, Net_flix_, I think? Gotta tell you – I think those guys are onto something.”

Beth snorts, getting more make-up / facepaint onto her brush, and opening her mouth to reply, when Emma twirls back into the dining room, her golden dress billowing as she moves. She comes to a stop in front of Annie and Beth, who are sitting opposite each other on the same side of the dining room table – their chairs turned to face each other, the tools of Beth’s day – make-up, sewing kit, hot glue gun, curling iron, sprawled out across the table beside them.

“Mommy, I can’t find my tea set,” she says with a pout. “I want to take Mrs. Potts.”

Emma’s Belle costume from _Beauty and the Beast _had come together surprisingly well – or not surprising, Beth corrects herself, remembering Ruby’s words earlier that day (“What? Something you made looks amazing? Shocker. You gotta learn to own your talents, B, seriously.”). She’s good at this, after all, and she already had the fabric templates from Emma being Anna from _Frozen _last year (although Beth had added a few more layers to the Belle skirt to give it volume).

“I think it’s in the playroom, honey,” Beth says, and Emma darts out of the room in a puff of glitter hairspray and gold satin. Turning back to Annie, Beth grabs a small sponge, finds the bruise-purple eyeshadow she’d set aside earlier, only to blink at the look on her sister’s face.

“Okay, so, please remind me why we were robbing grocery stores when you can do _that_. That costume is - -” Annie kisses her fingers, and Beth grins, batting her hands away from her mouth.

“You’re going to smudge your make-up.”

Which wouldn’t be ideal, Beth thinks, shifting back in her seat. It’d be good to get the kids out of here – Annie’s the last one after all. Beth has already put the finishing touches on Kenny’s Hopper costume from _Stranger Things _(fake beard and all), Danny’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle one, and Jane’s, which was - - weird, to say the least. Or - - maybe not. The shiny-obsessed crab from _Moana _feels pretty on brand for her. Hell, she’d even put together Ben's- although deciding to go as Karl Marx meant it mostly only entailed getting him a suit which Annie had done, and finding the right wig and faux beard which fell strictly in Beth’s jurisdiction.

At the thought of Ben, Beth glances out of the dining room, down into the living room, where he’s helping Danny play Jacks (Glenvale Elementary has a Retro Games Club, which is intensely sweet, but also makes Beth feel about a million years old. It’s not like she played Jacks, but she knew what it _was_.)

She’s pulled from her thoughts by the front door springing open, and she knows who it is from the delighted reactions on the kids’ faces more than anything else. Doesn’t see him though until he steps light-footed through the living room, carrying the seven plastic, pumpkin-head candy buckets and an enormous bag of ghost-shaped candies – each individually wrapped for any trick or treaters they might get tonight. She sighs in relief, mouthing a _thank you_ as Rio spots her, tilting his chin up in acknowledgement. God, she can’t even believe she’d forgotten to pick them up in the stress of finishing the costumes.

Leaning down to fist bump Ben, then Danny, Rio promptly gives Kenny the pumpkin buckets, directing him to pass them out to the other kids before they head out. Darting over into the dining room, Rio moves easily into Beth’s space, leaning down to give her a quick kiss that makes her blush despite herself, before glancing over at Annie, who’s zombie hillbilly look is almost complete.

“Thought you said your sister was wearin’ a costume?” Rio asks her, forehead furrowed in faux confusion, and Beth bites back a grin, rolls her eyes a little as Annie yanks out her prosthetic teeth to scoff.

“Funny,” Annie says with a snort, scowling over at Rio. “You should take that act on the - - wait. Was that a _dad joke_?”

Her jaw briefly hangs open, and Rio huffs out a laugh, adjusting his grip on the bag of candy in his arms and heading into the kitchen, away from them. It’s enough to make Annie surge up in her seat, briefly checking the kids aren’t listening before whisper yelling: 

“Don’t give up your day job as _violent gangleader_, I think your career in comedy is lacking!”

Rio just waves an arm out at her, jogging over to where Marcus and Jane are sprawled out on the kitchen floor, colouring in an enormous haunted house picture Beth had picked up from the PTA. They grin as they see him, and Rio ruffles Marcus’ perfectly quaffed Captain America hair just to make his son gasp, and then immediately starts laughing as he gets his first real look at Jane’s blinged out crab costume. Red cheeked and outraged at Rio’s response, Jane opens her mouth to yell, but then Rio’s swinging her up into his arms, rocking her around, making her cackle like a little lunatic, and just - -

Beth exhales happily, turns back to Annie only to pause.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Annie says, then shrugs, smiling. “Your face. Weirdo.”

“What?” Beth repeats, rubbing at her cheek, like there might be something on it, but she knows whatever Annie saw wasn’t - - well. Beth blushes, dips the sponge back in the bruise coloured eyeshadow and finishes the last one off. “I think I’m done, anyway, so you should probably get the kids out of here.”

“Sure sure,” Annie says knowingly, and when Beth squints at her, she adds: “So you can bone _daddy_ over there.”

“_Annie_,” Beth groans, a bright flush finding her cheeks as Annie leaps to her feet, grabbing the vanity mirror off the table to check out Beth’s work.

“Not bad, not bad,” Annie says, shoving her prosthetic teeth back in and grinning at Beth in a way that just makes her shake her head, not quite able to hide the affection in her grin. With her messy hair and her pallid skin and her buck teeth and her flannel shirt - - she sort of has the zombie hillbilly look down.

“To the streets, my pretties,” Annie calls, and the kids seem to materialise around her like she’s summoned them, a bustle of energy and attention and joy, and Beth’s grin only falters when Annie leans down and adds: “I’ll text you when we’re on our way back so you can, y’know, hide your shame.”

With that, they’re all out the door and into the bustle of the night.

Beth huffs out a breath, briefly collapsing back into her seat at the dining room table, furiously swiping at her face, the exhaustion of the last few weeks finally catching up to her. Still, it had felt too good, giving them all what they wanted – her four and Marcus and Ben and Annie too – making _them _feel so good. She can’t bite back her grin, can’t help but feel the worth in it, even as she leans forwards to start to bundle up her make-up and her craft supplies to pack away.

Only she’s interrupted when Rio suddenly leans over the table in front of her, his body bent as he eyes her off, lips twisted into a soft, barely-there grin. Beth raises an eyebrow at him, her fingers curling around her make-up brush again,

“Sorry, did you want me to do you too?” she asks, brandishing the brush in his face, and Rio rolls his eyes, but grins, pinching the brush from her fingers, grabbing a tissue from her collection to wipe off the last of the make-up. He makes neat, easy work of it and - - right, Beth reminds herself. _Sisters_.

“You gonna chill now?” he asks her, and it takes Beth a minute to process the words, to lean back in her seat, looking up at him, but then - - she nods, leaning back into her chair at the dining room table, folding her arms over her chest. She looks a little wistfully at the door, that contentedness she’d felt seeing them out of it warming in her belly all over again. But then again - - she wrinkles her nose. 

“At this time of year? Maybe for a week,” she says, her voice dry. “Thanksgiving is just around the corner, after all, and then there’s Christmas, and New Year’s too.”

She’d already found at least four new recipes she wanted to try too – experiments alongside old favourites. The menu for both Thanksgiving and Christmas already half-set in her head. 

“Thanksgivin’, we gonna go to my sister’s place.”

The words are enough to jerk Beth out of her own thoughts, to blink up at Rio, surprise evident in her look, and Rio stares back at her, then away, twirling the make-up brush in his hand.

“Carmen’s always wantin’ to host it, but she’s usually workin’ at the hospital. She got it off this year. Wanted to let her do her thing. Only found out yesterday.”

Beth turns the thought over in her head. It’s not that she’s adverse to it, rather - - she’s just not used to it. Annie’s never wanted to host, and Thanksgiving is the only holiday that Stan’s parents insist on, meaning Beth hasn’t had a Thanksgiving with Ruby since her and Stan were married. And after Dean’s dad died - - well, the expectation was that he’d host it, as the eldest son, and Dean hosting it always meant _Beth _hosting it, but - - but she’s not married to Dean anymore, she’s with Rio, and all the rules are out the window.

She looks back at Rio, who seems almost a little uncertain, like this wasn’t how he planned on broaching this with her, like maybe he expects a fight, and in the end - -

Well.

“We still have to take something,” Beth says, and Rio’s gaze darts up towards her, filled with a look that he gives her too often – something between amused and annoyed, before it gives way to something that’s just - - just _deep _and _warm_, and Beth can’t even begin to explain the feeling it unlocks in her own chest. But then Rio’s flicking the tip of her nose with the end of her make-up brush, and Beth rolls her eyes, going to grab it off him, but he holds it steadily out of her grip.

“I’m givin’ you a cap then, mami. One dessert, one side.”

“There are seven of us,” Beth counters easily. “Plus, Annie’ll need to come, so eight – maybe even nine if she has Ben too.”

“Then Annie can go buy that nasty ass pasta salad she always does and bring that too.”

“Your son loves that _nasty ass pasta salad_.”

“He does, and if you don’t think I hold that against your sister, you kiddin’ yourself, darlin’.”

And Beth just laughs, wrinkling her nose, because the pasta salad really is awful, so she figures it’s fair, and her reaction is enough to make Rio boop her nose again with her make-up brush.

“One dessert, one side,” he repeats, dropping the brush back into her make-up bag before flicking off her hot glue gun and her curling iron. “That’s an order.”

And - - well, Beth arches an eyebrow at that, folding back into her seat, staring up at him, still mostly amused.

“An order?”

“Mmm,” he hums, pushing her crafting gear and make-up palettes aside before planting his ass on the table in front of her, kicking his legs out briefly like she’s seen Marcus do, before he’s knitting his hands together in front of him, dipping his head. “It’s a thing bosses do, yeah? Delegatin’. I know you’re allergic to it or somethin’, but - -”

“Last I checked, you weren’t the boss of me,” Beth interrupts, tone a lot less amused now, and Rio just laughs, the sound easy and lyrical in a way that makes her heart leap and also tells her that he fundamentally disagrees with that statement, and Beth rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to tell him all the ways he isn’t, when Rio smacks his hands down on his knees and looks over at her.

“So in all this craftin’ and knittin’ and stitchin’, you get yourself a costume?”

And just - - what? Beth blinks, head reeling back as she eyes Rio off. They’d had only the briefest conversations about Halloween – one that mostly revolved around the kids, or Annie (hell, she’d been surprised by the visible pleasure he’d taken in the prospect of Annie taking Marcus as a part of the Boland kid tradition, but then - - Marcus seems a little more enamoured with Annie than she thinks Rio’s realised). Still, she’d figured it wasn’t really his thing, and she’d been glad for it, particularly since Dean had always insisted on the goofiest, most embarrassing ways of celebrating it.

“I don’t really do costumes,” she says slowly, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, before pointedly looking behind himself at the stacks of fabric offcuts and the make-up and her sewing kit.

“I mean, for me,” she replies. “Honestly, I just always run out of time, and I can’t exactly just run out and buy something. Nothing ever fits.”

He lowers his gaze to her chest then, reaches out, hooks a finger in the top of her blouse in a way that makes her breath catch. He tilts his head from side-to-side, considering.

“Worse things than a shirt that don’t fit.”

And well – that’s enough to make Beth laugh out loud, her hand finding his wrist, pushing it out of her top.

“I’m not talking about sexy, tight things, I mean like - - buttons that won’t do up and like - - too much fabric in places, and not enough in others and - - okay, you are _not _hearing me at all.”

Because he’s not, if the hot, amused look on his face is anything to go by, and it figures, she thinks. Guys really don’t get the intricacies of how much women’s clothing has never seen a woman’s body. She hits his leg, and he laughs, head back, and her gaze travels his throat, the long line of his neck, and she really must be tired because all she can think about is how much she wants to lick it.

She shakes her head, cringing a little at herself, before she looks away from him, out across the dining room, towards the kitchen, where Jane and Marcus’ colouring in is still sprawled out across the floor.

“Did you want to dress up?” she asks Rio tentatively, because maybe he does, maybe she assumed too much, but then he barks on a laugh, and Beth jerks her head back around to look at him, wrinkled nose and all.

“Fuck no.”

“You just said - -”

“Wanna see you in a costume. Well,” he laughs hoarsely in a way that pools hot and low in her. “Want to get you into one to get you outta one.”

He hums a little, considering, and it really is incredible, she thinks, a little hysterically, how easily he seems to be able to undress her in every sense of the word.

“Nurse Elizabeth,” he drawls. “You could give me a bath.”

And god - - that pulls her out of any reverie. She knows him sick now, knows him fevered, knows exactly the kind of patient he is, and just - - 

“You would hate that,” Beth says, laughing, and he huffs out a breath, but agrees all the same.

“Hmm,” he tries instead. “Maybe a witch then, huh? Or a librarian?”

Beth snorts, looking up at him, and immediately regretting it. There’s a heat in his look that she’s too used to – but - - there’s something else too, something she can’t place, something that runs deeper, and she shifts a little in her seat, electricity bolting from her knee when he knocks it with his calf.

“Mermaid or some shit.”

“You are not creative with costumes,” she says, trying to lower her temperature, and Rio hums in agreement. The next thing she knows, he’s tugging her up by the arm, and Beth lets herself be tugged, lets him move her between his legs, lets him brush her hair back, lets him unbutton her blouse to her belly button, pull it open enough to press a kiss against the top of her chest.

“Panty model,” he decides, and Beth scoffs – a sound which quickly turns into a gasp when Rio bites the curve of her breast. “Centrefold.”

“You’d hate that too,” she breathes, and Rio laughs.

“Mmm, don’t want nobody else lookin’ at you,” he agrees, and Beth shivers when his hands slip around her back, unhooking her bra with a practiced ease. “Then shit, it’s just pretend, ain’t it? We ain’t us.”

“I like being us though,” Beth breathes, and Rio exhales against her breast.

“Me too, ma. Don’t mean I don’t want to see you in some sea shell bra though, huh?”

And that’s enough to make Beth laugh, to rock against him as he unbuttons her shirt the rest of the way, slips it off her shoulders, and pulls off her bra. He makes a sound in his throat which is just - - so _pleased_, and it makes Beth keen before she even realises she’s doing it, makes her breathless, makes her shift a little closer, and then he’s sucking a hickey into her breast, his hands groping at her ass, pulling her closer - - so close that his half-hard cock digs into her lower belly, and her own nails are scratching through his short hair, her panties soaking, and god, she thinks, this isn’t fair, how quickly they get here, how much this - -

A yelp suddenly pulls her from her thoughts, and Beth’s head jerks around to find Annie standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and her lips broken into a sort of mortified grin. Beth jerks backwards, covering herself, before changing her mind and throwing herself at Rio instead, poking her head up over his shoulder, using him as a human shield.

“Is this a haunted house, because this is certainly straight out of my nightmares,” Annie says, with a half laugh, and Beth scowls at her.

“What are you doing back here?!” she hisses, and Annie rolls her eyes, striding into the living room and plucking an orange pumpkin bucket off the coffee table.

“Relax, sis, I just forgot my candy collector, not to be confused with your vagina, or like - - gangfriend’s mouth right now, apparently.”

“_Annie_.”

“I’m _going_, I’m _going_, jeez, I thought you were supposed to lighten up when you were getting some on the regular.”

“Ain’t you babysittin’?” Rio asks sharply, hand at Beth’s back, pulling her safely into his chest, and Annie huffs out a breath.

“Yes, _sir_, I have briefly tagged Ben in, but I’m going straight back. Right now, in fact. So. Anyway, enjoy your - - this.”

Annie steps back, and Beth glances up at her, her blush only deepening when Annie offers her a pointed thumbs up before disappearing back out the front door. Briefly, Beth hears the chatter of her children, of Marcus and Ben too – buzzing with excitement still for the night and just - - 

“Oh my god,” Beth says with a groan, burying her face back in Rio’s shoulder, feeling him shift beneath her, before suddenly leaning back, heaving her up off her feet, on top of him on the table.

“Don’t stress,” he tells her, settling her weight on top of him, his fingers gliding over her thighs, briefly squeezing her ass, and Beth just laughs emptily, cringing, because god, Annie will _never _forget this, and there’s no way she won’t immediately tell Ruby - - hell, she’s probably already texted her.

“I - -”

“No,” Rio says beneath her, kissing her. “Nuh-uh.”

He kisses her again, longer this time, harder, and when it breaks, Beth blinks down at him, her cheeks still flushed, his hand warm now on her back.

“I will stress about it after.”

“I know,” Rio tells her, letting her push up off his chest, folding her arms across her own as she straddles him lightly.

“I can never sit with Annie at this table again.” 

“Don’t think about it too much.”

“I - - ” 

“Elizabeth.”

Beth stops, looks down at him – at the length of him, his handsome face, his tapered torso. Her blush briefly deepens, the heat in her resparking. 

“We got maybe an hour and a half til they get back.”

She blinks, surprised, almost flails an arm out to gesture but then remembers that her arms are the only things covering her (and god – her hands are still so fucking _blue_). She shakes her head instead. 

“That’s a lot of time.”

Making a noise in the back of his throat like he disagrees, Rio lowers his hands, settling them on her hips. He nudges up against her, his cock shifting against her cunt through both their jeans, and really - - it shouldn’t be legal – how much she wants him.

“You ain’t got no costume,” he drawls after a moment. “But you can try me on if you want.”

And well - - that’s enough to make Beth snort. She looks down at him, wrinkling her nose, and Rio just gives her a shit eating grin in reply.

“That was bad,” she tells him, and he hums in agreement, before surging up and closing the distance between them.

“Yeah, but shit, ma. Works for us.”

And well, she thinks, pressing her lips hard against his.

He’s not wrong.


	11. Here's to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Rio making light hearted jokes about Beth being a cougar. Or Beth PTA friends or neighbor asking about beths younger bf. 
> 
> IMDB tells me that Asmita and Lauren are Beth's two PTA friends from S2!

Despite what she knows Rio will inevitably tell her later, Beth didn’t really have a choice.

Or, well, she _did_, kind of, but honestly telling Asmita and Lauren that she couldn’t make it to her own leaving party seemed like the exact type of drama Beth was inclined to avoid. Besides, it sort of felt like the end of an era. The school year was over, and with that came the end of her kids’ time at Peach Grove Elementary (and her own time on the PTA) and Marcus’ at Buckley Street Elementary – the promise of Glenvale and a new start waiting at the end of the summer.

If nothing else, Beth was mostly excited too – it felt like the final transition, after all. They’d moved months ago, had gotten the kids settled, had navigated Dean and Laura and the rest of their families, and while none of it had been without hiccups, it had all been surprisingly easy too. So what if she spent a few hours enduring Asmita and Lauren’s banal chatter as they saw her off and out the elementary school doors? Beth might not have felt particularly excited at the prospect, but in some ways it felt like an accurate way to mark the end of this chapter of her life.

(Although Rio had disagreed.

“Just tell ‘em you ain’t interested,” Rio had told her over breakfast at the café down the road from her office, newspaper folded to show just the crossword in front of him, a pen in the hand not holding his fork. “Not like you gonna see any of them again.”

“Except I will,” Beth corrects, taking a sip of her coffee, eyeing off the clues from across the table. “Lauren’s daughter is Emma’s best friend. Four down is Jakarta.”

Rio blinks up at her, eyebrow arched, and Beth tilts her head back to the crossword.

“Four down, capital of Indonesia. It’s Jakarta.”

Rio fills it in.)

And all in all, the party wasn’t exactly bad. The kids were all burning off energy in the playground while the parents hung around the back of the school hall, drinking cheap chardonnay out of paper cups. The PTA had organised a bland spread of gluten-free, sugar-free, flavour-free cakes and slices, a few of the dads manning a smoking barbeque, and Asmita had insisted on an array of gold-toned balloons that looked more nickel beneath the glare of the afternoon sun. (Honestly – what were they going to do without Beth to wrangle all of this?)

At least she wasn’t here alone anyway, Beth thinks, her gaze finding Rio easily across the fray of other parents – his tall, lean form, his navy button-up shirt, his angular handsomeness striking like lightning in the otherwise dull fog of the PTA. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t even seem to realise she’s looking at him, not with the way his forehead furrows, his lip curled at something Annie must’ve said as he stares down at her and her date. Beth bites back a grin when she sees Rio draw in an unimpressed breath.

Beside her, Asmita snorts.

“Your sister sure knows how to pick them, huh?”

With a quick twitch of her lips, Beth’s gaze drifts away from Rio to where Annie’s date stands beside him, nursing a beer – and just, god, nobody could say her sister doesn’t have a type. Beth wouldn’t look twice at him in an empty room, but he seems sweet enough, and enamoured with Annie, and it wasn’t like he was _un_attractive – sandy-haired and a little pale, thin, wire-framed glasses propped on a long, narrow nose. He talks a little too quickly, nervously, and had made at least three pop culture references in the space of their five-minute introduction that afternoon which Beth had enough experience to just smile and nod at, but had Rio shaking his head in what Beth was starting to recognise as second-hand embarrassment.

At the thought of Rio, Beth’s gaze slides back to him, and she’s surprised when he meets her look this time, his dark eyes rolling up as Annie’s date babbles beside him. Beth bites back a grin.

“I mean, he is handsome,” Lauren confesses. “But gosh, you know, he looks like he could be in a _gang _or something. Like in one of those shows on cable.”

And just - - wait. Beth stiffens, turning around sharply to look at Lauren and Asmita, but before she can even get a word out, Asmita shifts closer, tilting her small paper cup at Beth and levelling her with a strange look. 

“Speaking of new men,” Asmita says, shoulders raised a little as she leans in towards Beth. “You’ve certainly kept yours on the down low. I feel like last I heard you and Dean were just starting to talk about separating, and now look at you! You’ve let some new beau buy you a _house_.”

“He didn’t buy me anything, we bought it together,” Beth corrects, but Lauren and Asmita titter excitedly, ignoring her.

“A house near Glenvale,” Lauren enthuses. “I mean, gosh, those are million dollar houses out there.”

The words are enough to make Asmita nod a little too furiously, and Beth turns to reply only to pause when she sees Asmita’s face twist, almost pinched, before she catches Beth looking and smooths it back into a PTA-friendly smile.

“Must be on good money then, huh?” Asmita says quickly, then sing-songs: “Upgrade, am I right? So is he a doctor, dentist, lawyer?”

“Finance,” Beth replies easily, a practiced routine. Her gaze skirts the crowd again, locking in on Annie who’s somehow managed to steal one of the chardonnay bottles from the catering table and is liberally topping up her own cup. “He made his fortune young, now mostly invests.”

With a happy gasp, Lauren throws out a hand to paw at Beth’s arm. 

“Oh my god, an _investor. _Like, a Silicon Valley type?”

Beth opens her mouth to reply, but Asmita doesn’t give her the chance to.

“How’d you meet him?”

“Grocery store,” Beth says with a shrug. “I…accidentally picked something up that belonged to him. You know how it goes.”

“_Ohmygod,_ Beth! You are like, a total Meg Ryan right now. Total romantic comedy moment. Or - - what do people call it? A sweet meet?” Lauren gushes, while Asmita makes a strange noise in the back of her throat.

“Meet cute,” she corrects, eyeballing Beth, and Beth takes a sip of her cup of wine, dragging her gaze away from Annie and looking back out across the park to where the kids are playing now, laughing as they chase each other around the climbing frame. Even Marcus has gotten in on the action, Beth thinks with a grin, pleased to see him chattering with Jane at the top of the slide.

“That’s it! You know, it reminds me a little of me and my Steven – we met at a football game, back when I was still cheering. He was working in management - -”

“Please, he was managing the hot dog stand,” Asmita says with a snort, and Beth jerks her gaze away from the kids to look at Lauren, who’s blushing bright now, swallowing thick as her hands tighten around her cup of wine. Beth purses her lips, not even looking at Asmita.

“But he was barely twenty-one back then, wasn’t he?” she says loudly, smiling at Lauren. “Managing anything at twenty-one is pretty impressive. Besides, I’ve heard nothing but incredible things about his new restaurant.”

Her words are enough to make Lauren practically glow back at her, and Beth’s smile settles into something a little more natural at the reply, even if she now just wants to tell Asmita exactly how ugly the balloons she’d chosen were. _Not worth it_, Beth reminds herself, sucking in a breath, but then again - - it really _would _feel pretty good.

Before she can think any more of it, there’s a hand at the small of her back, and she turns in time to see Rio slide into view beside her, leaning in to kiss her chastely on the lips.

“’Ey,” he says, grinning against her mouth, and Beth can’t quite chase off her own grin in time as he leans back to reveal the wide-eyed looks of both Lauren and Asmita, and - - right, Beth thinks, standing up a little straighter. She clears her throat, turning back a little to better face them, as Rio’s hand drops down her back a little further so that it’s resting less at her tail bone and more at the upper swell of her ass. He balls his hand in her dress, making it bunch a little, before smoothing it back down. Beth resists the urge to slap his hand away, because god, if this is absolutely _not _the time or place.

“Lauren, Asmita, this is Christopher, Christopher, Lauren, Asmita,” Beth gestures back to the girls, and Rio tilts his chin up at them in acknowledgement, and she sees it – the way he seems to unpack them instantly, his gaze lingering a little longer on Asmita’s curled lip than Lauren’s wide eyes. He holds out a hand to Lauren. 

“Nice to meet you,” he drawls, and Lauren flusters, but takes his hand and returns the sentiment.

“Wow, you are not what I was expecting when I heard Beth had herself a boyfriend,” Lauren stutters, and then blushes, glancing at Beth apologetically. “I just mean, you’re very - -” her eyes flick over Rio’s face, his neck tattoo, the bracelets on his wrists, his converse, and everything all those things imply, before she settles on: “Young.”

And well, Beth thinks, resigned. She certainly could’ve said something _worse_. She lets herself glance over at Rio, who mostly just looks intensely amused, tilting his head, which only serves to keep Lauren talking, a bundle of nervous energy.

“I just mean to - - to be an investor,” Lauren babbles, her tone reaching a higher pitch, her hands flailing, her cheeks pink. “Beth said you - -”

“Beth was just saying you worked in finance,” Asmita interjects, giving Rio a long, pointed once over, and god, Beth thinks, annoyance sparking in her gut. Has she always been this much of an asshole? She frowns, opens her mouth to reply, but Rio smoothly moves his hand from her ass to curl around her hip, pulling her into his side.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” he drawls, almost bored, and Asmita must pick up on it, because next thing she’s tilting up her nose, eyes unblinking.

“My husband actually works in accounting – for Shepherd and Sons.”

“Good firm,” Rio replies easily, and Asmita blinks, surprised, before quickly recovering.

“One of the best in Detroit.”

Sucking in his lower lip, furrowing his brow, Rio nods in a way that Beth hopes reads as considering instead of condescending.

“One of, sure,” he replies, tone loaded, and Beth resists the urge to elbow him in the side.

Thankfully, Asmita doesn’t seem to pick up on the undertone of Rio’s words, instead she seems to preen, her husband’s status firmly re-established, and god, Beth had forgotten she’d be like that. She’d mostly laid off the comparisons after Beth had told her she and Dean were divorcing, but suddenly she’s having flashbacks of Asmita sniffing that Boland Motors was a _cute little family business_ but really, if Dean was more ambitious he’d be looking at climbing the ladder in an established, name-brand dealership like Toyota or Mazda, like Martin was at the Shepherd and Sons firm.

“You might know him, actually, if your background’s in finance. He was interviewed for an article in The Detroit Economist a few months ago.”

Rio just shrugs.

“Maybe. Think Elizabeth probably woulda told me though, huh?”

And god, both Asmita and Lauren’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Elizabeth,” Asmita says, a look of disbelief on her face. Her eyes skirt quickly to Beth, as if asking _is this guy for real? _before settling back on Rio. “A little formal.”

“Mmm,” Rio hums. “Was raised to respect my elders, y’know?”

He gives Lauren a playful grin at that, making her blush furiously, and Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes. The words are enough to make Asmita laugh though, something too loud and put upon, and Beth catches Rio’s look back at her, his lips twisted in something that tells her Asmita’s reaction was exactly what he wanted, and just. God, she wishes he was less obvious when he wanted to put people in their place.

“You certainly have made a regular Mrs Robinson out of our Bethie, huh? Of course, Mrs Robinson wasn’t the one who shacked up with her boy toy in the end, was she?” Asmita says, voice still a little loud, and just - - _what? _Any sympathy for Asmita flies out the window as Beth almost swallows her tongue in mortification, her body stiffening even as Rio’s grip stays firm on her hip. He stares back at Asmita, something between amusement and clear disregard colouring his features.

“_Asmita_,” Lauren hisses behind her, but Asmita ignores her, looking smugly between Beth and Rio, her shoulders set back firmly, and right, Beth thinks. It’s time to go. Before she can summon up an excuse though, Rio’s leaning forwards a little, his eyes bright.

“Oh, you lookin’ for tips, baby?” Rio asks Asmita suddenly. “Don’t blame you. Can’t be easy bein’ married to a guy at a second-rate firm like Shepherd and Sons. Gotta say though if you lookin’ to pick up some college-aged side piece, I’d probably take the basic bitch act down a notch.”

“Okay!” Beth says loudly, over Asmita’s gasp of outrage, grabbing Rio’s hand. “We really need to go check on the kids. Lauren, still on for the play date next week?”

Lauren nods, eyes wide all over again, staring between Rio and Asmita, as Beth waves them off and drags Rio down towards the playground and the kids. She waits until they’re out of earshot to glare up at Rio.

“That was rude.”

“She was rude,” Rio counters easily, untangling his hand from hers to drape his arm over her shoulders instead. Beth huffs at the weight of it, still glaring at him, and Rio just rolls his eyes. “You’ve never had any problem callin’ me out, why you play polite around that shit?”

And, well. Isn’t that the million-dollar question? She bites her lip, looking away. Somewhere behind her, she can hear Annie laughing, can hear the sizzle of the barbeque and the sounds of children playing, and if it were anyone else - - hell, if it was them a year ago, she’d probably have changed the topic. As it is, Beth sighs.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Had to see them all the time, I guess.”

“And you ain’t seein’ me all the time? Mama, you wakin’ up to me, ain’t you?”

Beth rolls her eyes, reaches a hand sideways to jab a finger at his side, to the one spot she knows is ticklish, relishing in feeling him twitch at her side.

“I just can’t believe you’ve seen _The Graduate_,” she adds instead of elaborating any further, and Rio grins, dart quick, before swallowing it. Honestly, she can’t. She thinks she can count on one hand the number of movies Rio’s seen, and most of them involve Minions thanks to the kids.

“Maybe she wasn’t entirely wrong about the Mrs. Robinson thing,” he replies easily, and Beth blinks, turning enough beneath his arm to stare at him again.

“You like older women?” she asks, then corrects it, nose scrunching up in disbelief. “You like that I’m older?”

Rio just laughs, the sound lyrical through the fray of the event.

“Like the whole package, you know that.”

It’s enough to make her squint up at him, making a noise of disbelief, before saying:

“Some parts more than others.”

And that just makes him hum in agreement, and then, quick as anything, the hand attached to the arm draped over her shoulders, slips down the neck of her dress and gropes her breast, and even though she yelps, really, she should’ve figured he would’ve taken that as an invitation.

***

And okay, it’s not like the thought takes up that much space in her head, just that it floats back to the surface later that night, when she’s straddling him in bed.

“You really like that I’m older?” Beth asks, a little breathless, and Rio blinks up at her face, tearing his gaze away from where he’s rolling her nipple between two fingers.

“You like that I’m younger?” he counters, and really, it’s not something she’s thought about recently, and back when she had, it had mostly come with a degree of embarrassment – at being so much less experienced than him in almost every capacity except child rearing, at _wanting _him so much, at being made fun of for it, at being some sort of desperate joke to him and his boys. Before she can work out how to say that though, Rio rolls his hips up beneath her. “Like bein’ a cougar, yeah?”

Beth rolls her eyes, but can’t quite hide her blush at the thought.

“Like bein’ a MI- - “

She drops her hands to cover his mouth.

“Do _not _finish that,” she hisses, and Rio laughs beneath her hand, the sound dampening her palms, and she gasps when he thrusts up into her, tilting forwards, and then before she can better balance herself, he’s rolled them over, grabbed her wrists, held them above her head as he pulls almost the whole way out and then sinks slowly back into her, drawing a low, guttural moan from her in the process.

The thought mostly leaves her mind until afterwards, when Rio flops down on the bed beside her, stretching a little, his long, leonine body curving effortlessly against the sheets. Beth rolls onto her side to watch him - - god, she loves watching him move - - before pursing her lips.

“What is it about that, anyway?” she asks. “The whole mom you’d like to - - _older woman_ thing.”

The question is enough to make Rio roll onto his side to face her, hand finding the dip of her waist, settling there.

“Dunno,” he says lightly, stroking his hand down from her waist, up to the peak of her hip. He makes a noise of appreciation that still surprises Beth. He likes this – likes feeling every curve, memorising them with his touch, and Beth - - well, Beth likes that he likes it so much, even if it had taken her longer than she cared to admit to get used to it. Dean had always seemed to use touch as a means to fuck her, disentangling as quickly as he could after he’d had her. She doesn’t think Rio would ever _stop _touching her if she let him. “Idea of bein’ taken care of maybe.”

Beth furrows her brow at that, blinking in surprise, her gaze darting over Rio’s face, searching for any sort of insinuation or request in it, but he’s as much of a mystery as ever, so in the end, she just asks:

“You want me to take care of you?”

His reaction is instant – he snorts, shakes his head.

“Fuck no,” he says, and then looks at her, levels her with an expression that can only be described as lewd. “Maybe,” he corrects, shifting a little closer towards her, enough she can feel his cock twitch at her thigh, and Beth rolls her eyes, but can’t quite help her grin as she lowers her hand to glide through the thin line of hair from his belly button to his crotch. 

And it’s later still, when he says:

“Wouldn’t matter.”

And Beth’s panting underneath him again now, writhing up to get closer to him, when he pulls away a little, and Beth looks up at him through her lashes.

“What?” she asks, twitching back a little self-consciously, and Rio just shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t matter if you were twenty-six or sixty-six, age - - just a fuckin’ number. But you. Ain’t nothin’ _just _about you.”

And it’s just - - it’s the way he looks at her when he says it, his gaze fixed on her, soft and dark and not like anything she’s ever felt before, but nothing with Rio is anything she’s ever felt before, and before she can stop herself, she’s surging up to kiss him, tangling her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Nothing just about you either,” she says breathlessly, and Rio grins against her lips, brushing his nose against hers as he thrusts into her, and Beth just holds him closer still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title's from the Simon and Garfunkel song, 'Mrs Robinson'


	12. Petite ouverture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: I'd love to see Rio having a tea party with the girls and Beth getting a picture of him wearing a funny hat.

“When do they come on?”

“Soon, pop,” Rio hums, shifting further back in his seat and glancing sideways at his son. He squints, rocks his jaw when he clocks Marcus’ heels hooked into the padded bottom of the chair, and shit, if that ain’t Jane all over. Rio makes a pointed noise in his throat, dragging Marcus’ attention back from the stage, down to his feet. He promptly drops his legs.

“We’ve been here for _ages_,” Danny whines on Marcus’ other side, and Rio’s basically inclined to agree. He had vague recollections of watchin’ his sisters at their own recitals thirty years ago, but it had nothing on this whole thing. Elizabeth had been stressin’ about it for weeks, and in here now – at some hired out little theater, it’s easier to see why. Ain’t exactly Radio City, but school halls ain’t got shit on it with its high stage and dark velvet curtains, bright, moving stage lights and thousand-chair audience. Not that the seats are full exactly, but it’s close, he’ll give ‘em that.

Then again, it _is _the girls’ dance school’s end of year revue.

It had been a big enough deal at home anyway – with double the amount of classes for the girls as usual – a fuckin’ scam if ever he’s heard one, because next thing Elizabeth’s fiddlin’ with their household budget and suspending her yoga classes until the end of the year to pay for it like they’ve got to count pennies (and shit, she’d been pissed when he’d called the club to _un_suspend it, but he knows how long it’s taken her to find an instructor she likes, and he knows just how fast spots get snapped up there, and he ain’t havin’ her goin’ without for no damn reason. Not that she’d agreed with that either.

“The whole point of a household budget is to stick to it,” she’d insisted in bed that night, her freezing feet pushed between his calves for warmth. “We can’t just keep magicking up more money to pay for things.”

He’d scoffed, pulling her closer, until she was half draped across his chest, hand drifting down her back, canvassing the knobs of her spine before sliding over the swell of her ass.

“Do you even remember what trade we in, mami? Or you wanna go pick up some more wrappin’ paper with your girls for reference?”)

It hadn’t just been the extra classes though. If it was, maybe it would’ve been easier, but it was the fact that the parents were expected to make the costumes themselves – the dance school emailing out patterns and listing out fabric stores like they’re doin’ them a favour. Elizabeth being Elizabeth had gone and volunteered to make half the other girls’ in the class’ too, and shit, he feels like Halloween was yesterday (two months, but still) and now he’s pretty sure the electric whir of her sewing machine has become the soundtrack to his nightmares.

It had only gotten worse too when Emma had been promoted to head dancer for their class, something that had the kid alternately glowin’ like she’d swallowed a lightbulb and sobbin’ over her footwork not being good enough, which had only in turn gotten Elizabeth all in her head, stressin’ about this whole thing being perfect for Emma, despite Rio trying to tell her nothin’ good would come of protecting a kid from the reality of hard work and the rewards of it (like, fuck, she was already head dancer – if that wasn’t winning, he wasn’t sure what was).

Rio sighs, shifts back in his seat, resists the urge to rub at his forehead at what feels like the twentieth group of little girls in tutus skipping out onto the stage. Tinkling piano music starts up again (and he’s _sure _they’ve played this song before), when a dim light hits the corner of his eye. Rio twists in his seat, looking to his other side to find Kenny with his cell shoved up his shirt for cover, reading some bullshit on somethin’ or other, and Rio levels him with a look, holding out his hand. Kenny at least has the good sense to look bashful, pulling his phone out from his shirt and passing it over to Rio.

On stage, the dance wraps up, and a tall, thin woman with a head of tight black curls steps out onto the stage, still clapping as she approaches the microphone stand in the far corner of the stage.

“Wow, what a performance from our Bright Little Bees class! Now we’re moving from the backyard to the forest for our next performance with our Gumdrop Fairies!”

Marcus gasps at that, and all three of the boys sit up a little straighter, looking over the heads in front of them to get the best view of the stage, and Rio quickly passes Kenny back his phone, gesturing out to the aisle.

“Film it for your ma and your aunts and your abuela, yeah?”

Because shit, he’s already preparin’ himself for an earful from his mom for not inviting her (nothin’ personal – Emma had banned extended family, too up in her nerves), if she finds out he didn’t even tape the thing, he doesn’t think he’ll ever hear the end of it.

Kenny nods, pleased for a job, sliding out of his seat and into the aisle as the piano music starts again from the front of the theatre.

Rio’s only just had the time to turn around when a little girl dance-runs out onto the stage, a puff of white tulle and silver glitter, her hair bundled up on top of her head. She curtseys to the audience, and then behind her, another little girl does the same, and then the third is Jane, making Marcus and Danny burst into cheers beside him, and Rio grins too, watching her curtsey a little roughly to the audience, and he sits up taller, hoping she’ll be able to see them only - -

Rio frowns, because Jane spots him and Marcus and Danny, but averts her gaze, no toothy grin or proud little chin tilt to be seen. He narrows his eyes, watching as little girl after little girl dances out onto the stage, and then the fairy queen, only - - 

“That’s not Emma,” Danny says a little too loudly, making a bunch of the parents turn around to shush him, but Rio gives them all dark looks, making them quickly turn back, because that little blonde girl _definitely _ain’t Emma. He waits a minute, watching the stage as Marcus and Danny murmur confused beside him, and even Kenny’s looking back at him from the aisle, and finally he waves a hand at them.

“Stay and watch Jane, I’ll be back in a minute. Kenny’s in charge.” 

With that, he scoots out of the seats, glad Elizabeth had booked them closest to the aisle in case Rio had needed to take a call, before ducking out. He heads out the back doors and then around towards the backstage area where he’d seen Elizabeth briefly before the thing had started – every inch of her sparklin’ from where she’d been spraying glitter onto costumes and her hands a little bloody from pin pricks and needles.

Slipping through the door, he’s met with a mess of cheap, pop-star perfume and bouquets of wilting gas station flowers, tiny kids in tights and tutus rushing around, laughing, mothers shushing, a few running through steps, more just giggling as they pelt each other with powder puffs covered bright with pink blush. Glancing around the space, he spots the names of the group classes – following through from the Bright Little Bees to the Dancing Divas to the Princesses of Power and Rio’s rolling his eyes a little at the names before he finds the empty corner for the Gumdrop Fairies. He ducks over, briefly checking over the area before spotting Elizabeth’s bag, shoved into the corner beneath one of the little dressing tables. Crouching down to peak inside, he rolls his eyes when he finds both her cell and her wallet left in it because clearly she gets off on not listenin’ to him, and he grabs both, shoving them into the back pocket of his jeans before standing back up.

He glances across the room again, only to spot a dark-haired woman at the next class over eyeing him a little uncertainly. Rio rolls his shoulders back, gestures with a tilt of his head down to Elizabeth’s handbag.

“Yo, you see the woman and little girl who was here?”

The woman blinks, opens her mouth, her hands fluffin’ up a tutu, and her eyes drop down to his tattoo, but she firms up her step.

“I’ve seen a lot of women and little girls here,” she says carefully, and Rio huffs, tries to soften his expression.

“I’m lookin’ for my partner and her daughter. She’s supposed to be out on stage right now with her sister, but she ain’t. Just tryna figure out what’s goin’ on.”

The woman’s brow draws, her expression shifting cautiously as she looks like she’s trying to gauge intent in his expression, and she must see something she likes, because she smiles sympathetically at him, before glancing down at a little girl who can only be her own daughter, hoppin’ around in a lime green leotard.

“There’s always drama at these things, I swear,” she says with a huff, holding the tutu down to the ground for her daughter to step into. “What do they look like?”

“Kid’s cute, blue eyes like her mama. She’s brunette though – hair down to her ankles,” Rio says with a good natured huff, and at least that makes the woman laugh.

“Which one won’t let you get it cut?”

“Ain’t figured that out yet,” he replies easily, and the woman laughs all over again.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that narrows it down. Your girlfriend?”

“Hair blonde, a little red,” he gestures to just below his jaw. “’Bout this tall. Wearin’ a dress with flowers on it.”

A look of dawning surprise crosses her face.

“The one with the - - “

She gestures a bit to her chest, and then promptly looks embarrassed, but Rio just grins, dimples and all, huffs out a laugh.

“That’s the one,” he says easily, and the woman nods, pointing out across the room.

“Her daughter was really upset. Seemed like something happened with another girl. I think she might’ve taken her into the bathrooms.”

Rio nods, says a quick thanks, and darts off across the room. He sucks in a breath, knocks a little, and when nobody says anything, he slides right in, and shit, at least that answers that. The bathroom is completely empty except for Elizabeth and Emma, who are sitting on the tiles, Emma red faced, clutching her flower crown, and sobbing at Elizabeth’s feet, her hair out of it’s sprayed-up bun, and Elizabeth, furiously combing it out. She glances up at Rio, and just - - something in his jaw sets on edge, because her expression is somethin’ between furious and grief-struck.

Striding over, he’s barely a foot away, when Elizabeth turns her gaze back down to Emma’s hair and he sees the tangled mess of it, held together with a bright, big glob of somethin’ pink and ugly. Elizabeth seems to sense he’s there in that way she does, seems to know what he’s lookin’ at too, because she sighs thickly.

“She put gum in her hair,” she says, her voice strained, and Rio frowns. 

“Who did?”

“Savannah Brinkly. That little - -” Elizabeth huffs out another breath, cutting herself off, scowling. “She’s the girl who’s out there now dancing Emma’s part.”

The words only serve to make Emma sob all the louder, and shit, Elizabeth’s face just falls apart. He leans in a little closer, drops a hand to her neck, pressing just slightly, then harder when one of Elizabeth’s hands come up to squeeze his. After a moment, she looks up at him, glassy eyed and pink cheeked.

“Is Jane on stage?”

Rio hums in affirmation, and Elizabeth exhales a breath he don’t think she even realised she was holdin’ in.

“She was almost as upset as Emma.”

“Didn’t look happy up on that stage,” Rio agrees, crouching down on the floor beside Elizabeth, behind Emma. He watches Elizabeth work the comb a little longer, but her hands are shakin’, so he pries the comb from her fingers, replacing her grip on Emma’s hair with his own. He combs a bit, but it ain’t gonna take a salon to tell them this shit is just gonna have to be cut.

“She did it right as they were about to go on. Just shoved her hand right into Emma’s hair. I’d seen her chewing gum all night, and I knew she was jealous of Emma getting the part – she’s the same girl who pushed her during class last week, remember Emma’s grazed hands? I should’ve done something.”

“What could you have done?” Rio asks her, lowering his voice, but he don’t think Emma’s listenin’. Too wrapped up in her own tears. “Can’t protect her from jealous bitches, ma.”

Beside him, he can feel Elizabeth stiffen, can feel her sigh.

“She worked so hard,” Elizabeth whispers, her voice thick. She shakes her head, and Rio glances sideways at her, his jaw rocking. He looks down at her hands – marked up from cutting through tulle and pinning fabric and weeks of work and energy and it’s strange – the feeling it tightens in his gut. He opens his mouth to reply, only for the bathroom door to spring open and another woman to run through, urgency thick in her tone.

“Beth, we need you out there right now.”

Swivelling beside him, Elizabeth blinks wildly over at the other woman, and Rio follows her gaze.

“What? Why?”

“Jane’s just, like, _thrown_ herself at Savannah on stage.”

“Oh, god,” Elizabeth groans, and Rio passes the comb back to her.

“I’ll handle it,” he tells her, but Elizabeth shakes her head, getting up to her feet beside him.

“No, stay with Emma.”

And just like that, she’s following the other woman out, the door swinging shut behind them, taking all the noise of the theatre with them. Rio sighs, sitting back on his haunches, watching Emma’s glittery shoulders shake in front of him. After a moment, he just sighs.

“’Ey, enough of that now,” he says gently, turning Emma around, and she avoids it – tries to at least, tries to cement herself to the floor like she weighs anythin’ upwards of fifty pounds, but still. Rio moves her as gently as he can. “She worth all this?”

Emma shakes her head, but her bottom lip is still wobbling.

“No,” Emma says. “But this was supposed to be special.”

Rio hums, rubbing a few tears off her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“This ain’t special? Can’t say I spent a dance recital in a bathroom before.”

And shit – it would’ve made Marcus laugh, but Emma just bursts into tears again.

“Ain’t sayin’ that’s a bad thing,” Rio says quickly, but Emma’s little hands are growing white knuckled around her flower crown, and Rio just sighs. “What she did ain’t right, and I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m sorry you missed your show, sorry we gonna have to cut your hair too.”

Emma sucks in a wet breath, but he thinks she might be all cried out, if the look on her tired little face is anything to go by.

“I don’t know why she was so mean, I’m _never _mean.”

“Nah, you ain’t,” and shit, Rio thinks, he wishes she was sometimes. He doesn’t think he’s ever known someone who smells the roses as much as this kid, and it still surprises him – how much he wants to protect it.

Protect _her_.

And - - not just her, he thinks, the picture of Elizabeth’s glassy eyes and sagging shoulders and scratched up hands taking up too much room in his head. He huffs, annoyed at himself before he can help it.

That woman’s fuckin’ wrecked him. 

Emma hiccups again in front of him, and Rio’s gaze drops to her face, to her hands, to the white and pink flowers in her flower crown, and he sighs all over again.

“This sorta thing, it ain’t really about you,” he tells her gently. “It’s about her, and it’s about what you have and what she don’t, and it ain’t on you to make her feel better about that.”

Emma looks up at him again, her face red and all her little dancer’s make-up practically leaking off her face, and Rio watches her hands tighter, her grip white knuckled to match the flowers, and she starts to say something, hiccupping all the while, when the bathroom door bursts open again, and Rio looks up, expectin’ Elizabeth, only - -

He laughs.

“Damn, darlin’, look at you.”

Because it’s Jane standing furiously in the doorway, her little face twisted up and her tutu ripped enough to hang off the back of her dress like a tail. She stalks over to them, dropping heavily down to the floor beside Emma, facing Rio, and he lets go of the comb to knock her up by the chin. There’s the start of a killer shiner reddening around her eye, and Rio’s brow furrows.

“Savannah do this?”

“I got her better,” Jane says sharply, tilting her chin up proudly like she hadn’t had it in her to do on stage, and Rio grins.

_Say shit get hit_, he thinks, amused, dropping her chin and turning his attention back to Emma’s hair.

“Where’s your mama at?”

“She’s talking to the teacher and Savannah’s mommy,” Jane says. “They’re yelling a lot. Mommy told me to come in here with you.”

Rio hums, trying to comb out Emma’s hair again, but giving up after a couple of brushes. Ain’t nothin’ but a pair of scissors left for it.

“Are we gonna have to cut it?” Emma whispers, her voice soft, and Rio nods.

“Yeah, darlin’. Your mama will do it when we get home, yeah?”

She exhales a wet breath, the sound coarse in the otherwise quiet of the bathroom, and Rio rocks his head from side-to-side, considering.

“Guess you’re a regular princess now, huh?”

And that’s enough to get both their attention, their twin sets of blue eyes blinking bright up at him, and Rio hums thoughtfully.

“Rapunzel had to cut her hair at the end of the movie too, didn’t she?”

Because shit, he’s watched it enough with the two of them now he thinks he could recite the thing – had to almost kill a guy at a drop because he’d clocked Rio humming that dumb _I’ve Got a Dream _song. It’s an ear worm, that’s all, burrows in your head.

“She lost her magic though,” Emma says, and Rio shrugs.

“Yeah, coz she didn’t need it no more. And you don’t need it neither – you got somethin’ better. You got skills and smarts, and you got bruiser over here to knock down anyone on the playground who says otherwise.”

Jane practically glows at that, holding up her little bruised fist, and shit, Rio thinks with a grin, she really knocked that kid out. He fistbumps her, before looking back over at Emma, turning over the flower crown in her hands. He knocks it a little with his hand, and Emma looks up at him.

“Do you think mommy can cut my hair to make it look like Rapunzel’s at the end of the movie?”

“Don’t think there’s a lot your ma can’t do, baby.”

Emma grins, dropping her gaze back down and they sit in silence for a minute, like she’s considering it, and Rio glances over at the door, wondering if he can get her out of here. He feels like it’s time to clear out – to get the girls home and happy and out of this fuckin’ place. Emma swipes briefly at her face, getting rid of a few of the shed tears, and Rio rocks back a little on his haunches.

“So what’d you wanna do?”

The words are enough to make Emma look back up at him again, and then back down at the flower crown in her hands, and Rio follows her gaze.

“Want me to get rid of that for you?”

She shakes her head, glancing back up at him, and then, after a beat, she climbs up onto her knees, lifts up the flower crown and drops it ceremoniously on his head. The action is enough to send the girls into flights of giggles, and Rio pops an eyebrow at them, playing up his shock and outrage.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?”

The girls just laugh louder, and Rio opens his mouth to reply, only to see a quick flash of light, and his head jerks around to see Elizabeth in the doorway, her cell in the air, pointed right at him, and Rio gives her an unimpressed look as she looks innocently back at him.

“Okay,” Rio says shortly, pulling off the flower crown and standing up. “Pack up your things, let’s get outta here.”

Leaping to their feet, the girls scurry out of the bathroom to collect their bags, and Rio strides easily over to Elizabeth, looking at her bite her lip at him, play innocent even as he says:

“You’re deletin’ that.”

“I absolutely am not,” she says. “In fact, I’m going to get it printed and send it out with the company Christmas cards. Seasons greetings from the boss. An honourary gumdrop fairy.”

She laughs, the sound melodic, echoing up through the bathroom, and Rio can’t say he ain’t glad to hear it after tonight. Still, he steps in a little closer, enough their chests are almost touching, enough she has to crane her neck to look up at him, enough he can just about see down the neck of her dress. He rocks his jaw, and he can see that too – the slight look of trepidation in her eyes, like she ain’t quite sure how he’s gonna play this, and shit if he don’t love that he can still surprise her. 

“Everythin’ okay with the teacher?”

And that definitely wasn’t what she was expecting, but the second the surprise wears off, she’s sighing harshly, dropping her arm and tilting her head to the side.

“No. I mean, yes, it’ll be fine, but they’re acting like Jane’s the one who did something wrong when none of it would’ve happened if Savannah hadn’t had it out for Emma.”

“Sounds like Jane still knocked the kids lights out,” Rio says with a shrug, watching Elizabeth’s chest rise and fall beneath the neckline of her dress, when Elizabeth suddenly cringes.

“And a tooth.”

And well – shit. Rio barks on a laugh at that, and then Elizabeth starts too, a little hiccupping giggle that makes him inch closer.

“I mean, it was a baby tooth! With the way Savannah’s mom was talking about it, you’d think she’d fractured her skull or something.”

Outside, Rio can hear Kenny’s voice now, and Danny, and then Marcus too (with awe in his tone, no doubt at Jane’s display, and shit, Rio thinks, it’s not like he don’t love the kids, but Jane’s trouble with a capital T). He can hear the bustle of the performers and a few mommas yelling about somethin’ or other, and there’s a whole rest of the night to get to, but still. He presses a little closer into Elizabeth.

“Tonight was a disaster,” she says, groaning. “And everyone’s gonna know.”

“Yeah,” Rio agrees, because the thought of his sisters finding out doesn’t particularly appeal to him neither, but it is what it is. He lifts his hand up holding the flower crown and pushes it down onto Beth’s head, watching the white petals fall down into Elizabeth’s curls, and he doesn’t move his hands from it when she looks up at him, her blue eyes bright as anythin’, and she looks somewhere between suspicious and entranced, which is really just the way he fuckin’ likes her, he thinks, grinning as he uses the crown to bracket her head and pull her up for a kiss.

“You’re deletin’ that photo,” he says against her mouth, feeling her breasts press soft against his chest.

“Never.”

Arching an eyebrow down at her, he bites her lip, just a little sharply, just until he feels her shiver.

“I got methods, mami.”

And Elizabeth just _scoffs_, and well, if that ain’t a challenge, he don’t know what is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from The Nutcracker!


	13. Keep My Glass Full

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: You asked for it. Brio fix prompt - boning in a hot tub ✌🏻

“What about this one?” Beth asks, twisting her arms around her back to zip herself up as best she can. She smooths down the midnight blue fabric over her hips, biting her lip as she quickly looks herself over in the mirror before turning towards Rio, who’s sitting on the edge of their bed, pulling on a pair of black socks.

The question is enough to make him drag his gaze down her body, suck in his lip in a way that rapidly triggers a flush across her chest.

“’s nice,” he rasps, and Beth rolls her eyes, because it would mean something if he hadn’t responded with some variation of the same for the last four dresses she’d shown him.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” she bites, unzipping the dress again and wriggling out of it in frustration. It’s enough to make Rio groan, dropping heavily back onto their bed, pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes as he does it.

“Wear your mama jeans for all I care, it don’t matter.”

“It absolutely _does _matter,” Beth insists, flailing as her dress finally pools at her feet. “It’s - - _fancy_.”

“Fancy?” he asks, glancing up at her, popping an eyebrow, eyes darting a little hotly down to her cream lace bra and panties, and Beth finds herself blushing all over again, quickly grabbing another dress from her shortlisted pile to slip on.

“It’s a cocktail party.”

“Nuh, trust me, ma, all it is is an excuse for Gretchen to show off all the shit she’s done to her house.”

“There was an invitation. A _physical _invitation. In the _mail_,” Beth insists. “It was _embossed_.”

“Yeah, coz she’s like that,” Rio replies easily, waving an arm up in the air, and Beth levels him with a look, smoothing her floral dress down over herself, and - - no, she thinks, barely needing to look at herself in the mirror. She’d bought this for a high tea school fundraiser, and everything about the dress screams _mom_. She is _not_ mom tonight. Well, she is – she’s always mom, but the point is, they won’t have the kids with them. Hell, they won’t even be coming home to them with hers at Dean’s for the week, and Marcus at Laura’s.

No, tonight she is Rio’s partner – in crime, in life, in - -

In all of it. At a fancy party. With his friends. She sucks in a breath, pulling off her dress and immediately fumbling back through the pile of options she’d clawed out of their closet. Has she always had this many dresses? Why does she suddenly hate them all? 

“She’s like what exactly?”

Rio rolls his eyes, good natured, and when he says, “Pretentious. Shit, she’s callin’ this thing a house re-warmin’ and everything,” it’s with an amount of affection that goes straight to Beth’s nerves. She’s met Gretchen a few times now and they’ve just never really hit it off – but then, as Ruby had insisted, they’d never had the chance to either. Beth’s always either been child wrangling or entertaining or - - well, meeting with her professionally, where Gretchen seems to enjoy bringing up the fact that Beth created the legal woes for Rio that paid for Gretchen’s new house a little too much, and just - - god. Beth really wants her to like her.

After all, she knows she’s more than just Rio’s lawyer, she’s his _friend_ and Beth’s more than just – as one of Rio’s boys put it (right before Rio broke the guy’s hand) – the snitch Rio wife’d. Speaking of - -

“What’s her wife do again?” Beth asks, and Rio rolls over a little on the bed, watching Beth toss a few ‘no’ dresses to the floor in her underwear, finally grabbing a soft pink dress and holding it low to step into.

“Manages some gallery.”

“Manages some gallery,” Beth says with a scoff, pulling the dress up over her hips, her belly. “She’s the artistic director of DIA.” 

“Why you askin’ if you already knew the answer?”

And - - well. Beth blinks over at him, looks at the smug look on his face and knows she walked right into that trap. She scowls, shoving her arms into the sleeves of the dress. It’s just - - they’re _impressive_, that’s all. Basically a Detroit supercouple! And Beth is already having flashbacks to their housewarming when Gretchen and Caroline got stuck talking to Annie about all the different types of dead animals she’d found in the Fine & Frugal delivery trucks.

“I’ve just never really been around people like this before,” Beth admits, exhaling, and it’s enough to make Rio sigh, slide off their bed, and step towards her and just - - god, that’s unfair. He looks almost too good like this – button up shirt, skinny tie, fitted slacks, a tailored blazer, all black, and Beth frowns, still trying to get her dress over her shoulders where the fabric has twisted. Rio bats her hands away as soon as he’s at her side, replacing them with his own and making neat, quick work of untwisting it for her and smoothing it down. He rocks back a little when he’s done, makes an appreciative noise in the back of his throat before spinning her around towards the mirror and zipping her the whole way up.

“This one’s good,” he hums, gently squeezing her arms and Beth blinks at her reflection. She hasn’t really worn this dress before at all – it had been an impulse purchase, something elegant and simple. A fitted pink dress with embroidered flowers on the bust, a cinched waist and a draped side that had made her feel sort of regal in the moment she’d tried it on – like one of the Roman goddesses Emma had been studying at school, and she’s surprised to find the feeling blossom again.

It goes almost too well with her pale skin, her soft eye make-up, and the way she’s curled her hair. She knows she has a deep pink lipstick too that’ll pull it all together.

“The party’s gonna be borin’ as hell, trust me. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about,” Rio tells her, dropping his arms to wrap around her waist, pull her back against him. “But damn, you that worried, we could stay in.”

He brushes his lips against the shell of her ear, his hand slowly pulling up her dress.

“Have our own party.”

Beth flushes, but still has the sense enough to roll her eyes. Still, she can’t say the thought doesn’t have its own appeal – but then, she looks at them in the mirror together. God, have they ever done this sort of thing before? Together?

She turns around in his arms, pressing her lips to his.

“Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

*

“Are you sure this is it?”

“You know I been here before right?”

Beth rolls her eyes, clambering out of the passenger seat of Rio’s car as he passes his keys to the valet, walking around the car and promptly dropping his hand to the small of her back. Beth leans into it before she can help herself, glancing up at the large, stately house before them, and - - well, at least it matches the invitation, Beth thinks, shifting her weight, her hands clutching at the container in her hands.

It’s not just the house, which has to be almost as big as their own (despite the vast difference between having no kids and five to live in it), but the creeping vines that scale the length of the red brick walls, and the long, elegant stone path leading them from the street to the door. It’s bracketed by neatly trimmed grass, and small, orb solar lights, creating a calling glow up towards the house, and Beth pauses as a man in a tuxedo steps out the front door, covering one ear as he talks into his cell.

Rio’s hand nudges her forwards.

“You were right,” Beth says before she can think, glancing down at the dish in her hands. “I shouldn’t have made anything.”

“Didn’t say you shouldn’t’ve, said you didn’t need to,” Rio reminds her, and Beth shakes her head, glancing over at him, her hands tightening on the dish. “Come on, mami.”

With an exhale, Beth lets Rio guide her up towards the house, her gaze drifting back to the road behind them where a Tesla rolls up and spits out a couple in a three-piece suit and what is basically a sequined ballgown and god, Beth thinks, squirming a little. She suddenly wishes she’d at least worn the navy dress – feels like she could maintain a degree of invisibility in it. Like he’s felt her unease, Rio’s hand moves from the small of her back to curl around her, fingers first squeezing the curve of her waist before sliding down to hold her hip.

He barely has the chance to knock when suddenly the door opens, flooding classical music and chatter out into the night, and Beth’s relieved not to see a doorman (like she was starting to expect), but Caroline. Tall and slender, with long copper hair and sunkissed skin, she appears in front of them in a puff of forest green satin, a champagne glass in hand. She glances between them, surprise plain on her face before she quickly covers it with something more pleasant.

“Christopher! Beth!” she hums warmly, before twisting on the spot. “Gretchen! The Velasquez’ are here!”

Before Beth can remind Caroline that they’re not married, Gretchen’s appearing at her side, her dark hair pulled back off her face, dressed in a chic, tight white dress.

“Welcome,” Gretchen says, still half talking to somebody else, and Beth follows her gaze from the stranger to where it settles promptly on Rio. 

“Thank you,” Beth replies for both of them, knowing Rio won’t, and quickly holding up her dish before she can think anymore of it. Both Gretchen and Caroline blink at her in surprise. “It’s a pear and blue cheese tart.”

“’s real good,” Rio hums beside her, tightening his grip on her hip, like he can feel how frazzled she is, because of course he can, and Gretchen’s gaze flicks to him before sliding back to Beth.

“Did you not see on the invitation that it was catered?” Gretchen asks, her eyebrows raised, her face giving away nothing, and god, is she offended? Did she think Beth thought the food provided would be anything but divine?

“I mean, I did, of course, but what would a house re-warming be without something to re-warm,” she hopes it comes off as cheerful, charming, and she sees Gretchen tick it over, but she doesn’t say anything, so Beth quickly adds: “Everyone often tells me it’s even better the next day, so consider it tomorrow’s lunch for the two of you.”

Gretchen just stares at Beth for a moment, her gaze flicking back to Rio, and whatever she sees on his face makes her roll her eyes. Beth’s about to try and figure out exactly what _that _means when Caroline promptly interjects.

“What Gretch means to say is thank you,” she says, taking the dish from Beth’s hands. “As for me, you had me at blue cheese. I actually think it’ll compliment some of the canapes beautifully too.”

“Oh! Good,” Beth says, glancing back, but Gretchen hasn’t taken her eyes off Rio, and when Beth flicks her own gaze up to look at him, he doesn’t turn it down to meet her. Instead, the two seem to be locked in some private, silent conversation, and Beth finds herself shifting awkwardly beneath it.

At the same moment that she picks up on it, Caroline seems to too, and instantly takes it as her cue to hold a hand out to Beth, gesturing her into the house.

“Beth, why don’t you help me give it to our caterers. You can pass on the serving instructions to them so you can go and enjoy yourself.”

It’s enough to make Beth blink, feeling Rio release her hip, nudging her forwards into Caroline, and then he promptly turns on his heel, striding out onto the front lawn, Gretchen on his heels. Beth blinks again, opens her mouth, but before she can get a word out, Caroline’s pulling her through into the house, leading her through the throng of people.

“Did you make the pastry yourself again? I _still _talk about that wild mushroom tartlet from your housewarming, I swear, just ask Gretch. It’s your own recipe, isn’t it? You should think about patenting it.” 

*

Beth wouldn’t exactly call herself a wallflower, but the part seems to fit too well tonight. After she talks the caterers through re-heating the tart, Caroline gets her a champagne and what is honestly a pretty incredible little salmon thing before making easy small talk about her renovations and Beth’s kids until new arrivals at the party beckon her away. She makes generous, hostess work of introducing Beth to an artist friend of hers before she does though, only the guy seems to decidedly lose interest in her the moment he realises she’s not available, and he swans off to some twenty-four year old blonde with a braying laugh and a great ass.

A waitress moves by with a tray of champagne glasses, and Beth takes two – one for her and one for Rio, but she’s drunk both before she can really think better of it. Besides, he hasn’t come back yet, she tells herself, shifting her weight and looking across the swell of people, seeking him out, and just, god - - isn’t that pathetic? She cringes internally, rolling her ankle a little in her heels before trying to firm herself up. She doesn’t want to cling to his arm like an accessory, and she certainly doesn’t need him to be introducing her to people.

The party’s filled up well, an array of well-dressed, classy people in silk and fine linen, looking perfectly in place against Gretchen and Caroline’s elegant décor. Crisp white walls peppered with enormous canvas art – modern, often muted greys, giving the space a strangely Parisian quality, something that’s only emphasised by the cool marble floors and the white leather sofa, and Beth makes a mental note to never, ever bring their children here.

There’s a baby grand piano in the corner, a hired pianist at the stool playing for the party, and she contemplates going over, chatting to him, before her eyes catch a group of three people, a little closer, standing around the side with an opening she could easily slide into. Sucking in a breath, she squares her shoulders, slips on a smile, and walks over.

It takes them a minute to even realise she’s there, and Beth hesitates to introduce herself, finally just waving a little, clutching her champagne glass.

“Hi there, I’m Beth,” she says, and just - - god, this feels like grade school. She smiles as sweetly as she can, watching the two men and the women pause, look over at her, and it’s the woman who puts her out of her misery, holding out a hand which Beth gratefully takes.

“Maddison,” she says, before gesturing to the two men beside her. “And this is Peter and Todd. We’re reminiscing. We all went to Harvard Law with Gretch.”

Beth blinks, looking between the three of them – to Maddison’s sequined red dress, to the two men’s pristine suits, and figures, she thinks. She grins.

“Wow! All of you?”

It’s enough to make Todd flick his gaze down her body, making no secret of undressing her with his eyes, while Peter tries to wave down another drink.

“Yup, class of ’03. None of us have made quite the dent as Peter has over here,” Maddison says, bumping him with her hip. “But we’re all still practicing which is pretty impressive. I was just saying I ran into this girl from our class, Julia Yang, a few weeks ago, and she’s working in policy – hours are better with kids apparently – but Jesus. I can’t imagine wasting a degree from Harvard Law on state government.”

“Here here,” Todd says, stealing Peter’s new glass of champagne, eyes still on Beth’s chest. “Which industry are you in - - wait, don’t tell me. I’m gonna guess. I’m thinking - -”

He clenches his eyes shut, holds a hand up to her, like he’s a psychic making a prediction, and Beth laughs a little uncertainly, trying to swallow her sudden discomfort, shifting her weight back on her feet.

“Sales.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Todd,” Maddison says, and Beth looks sideways at Maddison, because something in the other woman’s tone tells her that she should be offended, but she’s not in on whatever Todd’s joke is. The moment sits heavily for a moment as Todd laughs, and right, Beth thinks, stepping in.

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” she says lightly. “I sell cars. I run my own second-hand dealership actually.”

The three of them look blankly at her, nodding a little, and Beth’s glad suddenly for the high neck of her dress, because she’s sure her chest is flushed.

“So business school?” Maddison asks, feigning interest, and Beth glances over at her, shaking her head.

“Actually, I didn’t go,” she says. “I mean, I got into Wayne State, but I had some - - just you know. Life happens, and I didn’t get the chance to go.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. And you never thought of going back?”

“Yeah, I did,” Beth replies, ringing her fingers a little around the stem of her champagne glass. “But I got pregnant, and then I got pregnant again, and well, you know how it is.”

“I imagine two kids are a lot of work.”

“Actually I have five,” Beth says. “Well, I mean, I have four, but my partner has one too, so we’re five together.”

The words are enough to make Todd briefly splutter on his drink, his eyes dropping onto Beth with a new sort of weight, and even Peter seems bemused by the fact, forehead furrowing as he looks at her curiously.

“How do you go from that to running your own car dealership?”

Beth smiles at him, shrugs, wrinkling her nose a little.

“My ex-husband used to run one, and I’d help out, but my new partner and I set this one up together. I had experience, so I kind of –”

But even before the words are out of her mouth, Peter’s laughing, looking away, gesturing back to the waitress again for canapes, and Beth feels the rest of the sentence dry up on her tongue. 

“It’s great that you got that opportunity,” Maddison says, and the words are kind, but her tone is - - less than. Beth’s flush deepens, and she polishes off her glass of champagne so that when the waitress comes around for Peter, she can grab another for herself.

“Shit, Gretch has done well for herself,” Todd says, pointedly changing the subject, and Beth makes a grateful noise of agreement that nobody really acknowledges. “She was telling me the other day that they put a twenty-five-metre lap pool in on the second-floor garden.”

“There’s a second-floor garden? Shit, doesn’t she only have like, three major clients?”

“Yeah, but they’re all big tickets, and she keeps a rotating door of smaller ones. She’ll never confirm it, but I heard one of the majors is Christopher Velasquez.”

Peter swears suddenly, eyebrows up in his hairline, and Beth’s eyes widen, suddenly finding herself frozen to the spot. 

“Isn’t that guy, like, a kingpin?”

“Mm-hmm,” Todd says. “Huge deal. Used to move around a bit, but I’ve heard he’s really laid roots in Detroit over the last few years. Pretty sure Gretch rep’ed him in that federal criminal case three years ago, lucky bitch. She got him off too. Killed the FBI’s case. I seriously don’t remember her being that good in college.”

“She’s always been that good, you just hate women, Todd,” Maddison says, and Todd rolls his eyes. “I wonder why Velasquez stayed in Detroit.”

“Why does any guy like that lay roots? He’s probably been locked down by good pussy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“What would be disgusting is if I said that good pussy trapped him poking holes in a condom, which she probably did.”

“Right,” Maddison says dryly, staring at Peter. “Because god forbid the guy maybe just want to settle down after almost going away on federal charges. You’re such a fucking asshole, Pete, I swear, you - - ”

A hand touches the small of her back again, and god, Beth wishes she wasn’t relieved, turning a little to let Rio sidle in beside her. He looks annoyed more than anything, and briefly fear grips her that he’d heard these guys talking about him, seen Beth just _standing _there, shell shocked (but also a little curious), but them he plucks her champagne glass from her hand, draining it in one long gulp, before dropping it onto a passing waiter’s tray and grabbing one for each of them to replace it.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mama,” he hums, and Beth gives him a look.

“For stealing my drink or taking so long?”

He grins, a little bashful, leaning in to steal a kiss before turning to face the three people watching them. He tilts up his chin in acknowledgement.

“Yo.” 

And god, she wishes it didn’t feel so good to turn around and watch the three of them just stare, their eyes wide, mouths slightly open, flicking between Rio, and Beth beside him, taking her in all over again with her pink dress and her soft, strawberry blonde curls. Beth stands up a little straighter, batting her eyelashes.

“Christopher, this is Maddison, Todd and Peter, they went to law school with Gretchen.”

He nods at them, his arm settling around Beth’s back again.

“Yeah? Maybe you can help me figure out if she was born a cutthroat or she learnt that shit.”

Maddison barks on a laugh, blatantly checking him out, before tossing her hair back over her shoulder and pushing out her hip.

“Been that way as long as I’ve known her,” she says, and Rio gives her a half smile that visibly melts her, and god, embarrassing, Beth thinks. Although maybe she’s the one who’s embarrassing, because before she can stop herself, she’s leaning into Rio’s side possessively, grateful for the way that he tightens his hold on her hip in reply.

“Great,” Beth says sharply, turning a little to Rio. “Want to do a lap?”

Rio furrows his brow, looking down at her, like he can hear something in her tone but doesn’t quite know what it is, but still. He tilts his champagne glass at the trio in goodbye and lets Beth take him for a lap.

*

And mostly it’s fine, Beth tells herself, shifting her weight beside Rio as women titter around him and men look at him with a sort of awe that Beth really hasn’t seen outside of movies. She _knew _the brand of effortless charm and charisma Rio exuded – after all, it’s not like she’s ever been immune to it – but here, like this, he straddles the line of success and danger in a way that she’s never seen before and it’s like - - like _catnip _to these people (and sure, she’s sure the fact that he looks like he does doesn’t hurt).

It’s not like she gets lost in the shuffle of it exactly either, just they treat her almost like she’s a part of the Christopher Velasquez package. One man even practically _says it_.

(“And this is your wife?” he’d asked, eyeing Beth off appraisingly like she was a racehorse or a - - well, a trophy, and Rio had made a noise which was basically an affirmation that Beth didn’t have the wits to unpack. “Beautiful, truly. I imagine you must wake up every morning a happy man.”)

And just - - god, she thinks, finishing off her glass. They might be better dressed, better educated, drive nicer cars, but it’s like it was with _Dean_, only somehow worse, and Beth doesn’t even know how to begin to think about that. It’s not that Rio encourages it either – in fact, he barely speaks at all, seems more than anything itching to leave, just they’re _here_, and, despite herself, she wants to make a good impression.

So she grabs another champagne.

And another.

And okay, maybe getting drunk and listening to people fawn over Rio wasn’t exactly the best way to _achieve _that good impression, because she’s swaying a little on her feet when Gretchen and Caroline finally clink glasses and call for the start of the tour.

“Tour?” Beth whispers, although judging by the amused look on Rio’s face and the few people around them who turn to shush her, probably not as quietly as she thinks.

“Told you Gretchen was like this,” Rio hums back, grabbing another cranberry, brie and prosciutto crostini off a tray as a waiter drifts past. “You ready?”

Beth resists the urge to groan. Resists the urge to slip out of her heels and rub at her aching feet too. Instead paints on her most benign smile and lets Rio hold her back until most of the party has followed Gretchen and Caroline out of the room for the start of the tour.

Moving to follow, Beth’s surprised when Rio suddenly grabs her arm, tugging her in the opposite direction to the group.

“What are you doing?” she says with a yelp, and Rio spins back to look at her, pressing a finger to his mouth, gesturing her to be quiet.

“Baby, I’ll do a lot for you, but I ain’t got it in me to follow Gretchen and Caroline around while they try to tell me that ugly ass paintin’ in their foyer was worth half what they paid for it. Come on.”

Beth laughs before she can help herself, and they should stick with the group – they _should. _It’s the adult thing to do, the _right _thing to do, but then - -

“Wait,” she yelps, and Rio turns back around, like he’s preparing himself for a fight, only to find Beth clutching his arm and leaning down to take off her shoes. She grabs them by the heels, and then gestures forwards. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

Rio just grins.

*

It takes them a while to find it.

Takes them maybe fifteen minutes and a few games of _what’s behind the door _that has Beth giggling and Rio laughing as her guesses get more and more ridiculous (the shrine to him guess for the room that turns about to be a linen closet earns her a particularly loud guffaw that Beth thinks she’ll keep with her forever), and finally it’s his guess of morgue for lawyers who’ve crossed Gretchen that opens them up to the room with the pool.

Rio steps quickly through, a spring to his step like it was what he’d been looking for, and Beth finds herself suddenly breathless, her toes leaving the cool hallway floor for the soft, lush artificial grass of what can only be described as a greenhouse. It’s a huge, glass room full of ferns and flowers, fairy lights dangling from the roof, reflecting off the still water surface of the swimming pool. Soft, tinkling music plays through hidden speakers as the faint smell of chlorine is overwhelmed by the fragrant smell of blossoming lilies.

“It’s beautiful,” Beth says, breathless, and Rio hums in agreement, toeing off his shoes, his socks, and dangling a foot briefly in the water of the pool.

“Temperature’s good too,” he says, and Beth spins to look at him. To just _see him _now, barefoot in his fitted suit, his eyes hooded, his lips plump, the angles of his cheekbones like a splinter of glass, and she remembers all the other women, hungry for him, and then - - well.

Suddenly Beth feels too sober. She swallows thickly, looking away.

“Will Gretchen be mad we didn’t do the tour?”

“Probably,” Rio says with a shrug, pulling off his blazer, draping it neatly over one of the wicker chairs at the poolside. “She’ll get over it. Don’t think I coulda spent another minute around those people.”

The music tinkles on benignly as Beth watches him loosen the knot on his tie, enough he can sling it off his neck, dropping it to the chair with his blazer. It’s strange, how he can still look so elegant, even without the more formal staples of his attire. Beth wonders if Dean ever looked this together in slacks and a shirt, but then - - Dean never really looked together at all. Beth bites the inside of her cheek.

“Those people are probably who you _should_ be hanging out with,” she says lightly, and Rio blinks over at her, forehead furrowed, lips pulled into a disbelieving grin.

“Who says?”

She tosses both her arms up, shrugs, shakes her head at him. 

“They’re smart, successful people. Like you are. They could be good connections for you professionally. Now and in the future.”

And it’s loaded then, the quiet between them. Rio stops undressing, just looks at her briefly, like he’s trying to read her, and, for once, finds that he can’t. It’s enough to make him rock his jaw, to look away, then back to her.

“Been a while since _we_ been a _me_,” he says slowly, and Beth’s heart lurches in her throat. She quickly shakes her head.

“That’s not what I meant.”

But isn’t it?

“You fit better here,” she says. “That’s all. I mean I - -”

But the words won’t come.

“You what?” he says, not quite letting her off the hook, but the thing is, Beth can’t say it. Can’t tell him that tonight has been humiliating, that it’s been demoralising, that it’s reminded her of just how much of her life has been - - not worthless. She refuses to say worthless. She wouldn’t change a thing about taking care of Annie, wouldn’t swap her children for anything - - more - -

More how much her life hasn’t been lived for her.

How much other people see that as small.

“You and me ain’t ever had nothin’ handed to us, and we won’t ever. It’s what makes us so fuckin’ good. What means we don’t need this _fancy _fuckin’ show to tell people what we are.”

Beth’s head whips up at that, sees Rio looking at her, feels something in her chest tear open at his words, and just, she exhales a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.

“Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you, Elizabeth, they ain’t my people, you are.”

“Gretchen - - ”

“Is my friend, yeah, but we don’t do this shit together. Just coz we’re friends don’t mean we’re the same. We hang, sure, and we got the club, and she got me out of trouble, and I got her outta binds too. That don’t mean I’m interested in spendin’ any of my time listenin’ to her talk about how she’s spent my money.”

Beth huffs out a laugh, folding her arms over her chest. Still, she glances up at him.

“What did she want to talk to you about when we got here?”

Both his eyebrows pop up at that – a _huh _expression that almost makes Beth blush, and when he says:

“That’s what got you stressin’?”

His tone is laden with disbelief.

Beth shakes her head, bites the inside of her cheek, glancing out at the inviting surface of the pool.

“She doesn’t like me.”

“It wasn’t about you. She didn’t expect me to show. She was worried I was gonna start cappin’ people or somethin’, knew a few people here mighta been a little fuckin’ ignorant. Wanted to make sure I was on my best behaviour.”

“Really?”

“Mm,” Rio says. “Told her I already had you to keep me in line so didn’t need her breathin’ down my neck too.”

“I wish I could keep you in line,” she says with a snort, and Rio grins, dimples and all, and ugh, Beth thinks, rolling her eyes, not quite able to temper her own smile. His face is like a trap, she thinks. One she really needs to get better at wriggling out of, because she still feels it all, swirling around in her gut, but - - mostly she just wants to kiss him.

She shakes her head.

“Tonight’s been weird,” she says with a sigh, and Rio hums in agreement, his voice low, dulcet. She squints back at him. “Like, every woman here wants to sleep with you.”

It’s enough to make him laugh, head back, his hands undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing the talons on the hawk at his neck. Not for the first time, she wonders how many women he’s slept with before her but - - god, even Annie had agreed that the answer to that was probably not one she wanted to know.

“Shit, you seen the way that art dealer was lookin’ at you. Thought I _would _have to start cappin’ people.”

And Beth just snorts at that. She’s pretty sure he was mostly looking at her to figure out what Rio even saw in her, but she thinks bringing that up is only going to piss Rio off and make him want to prove something in that way he too often does.

“See?” he says instead. “You standin’ there actin’ like we’re supposed to be fittin’ in with them, when everyone in that room either wants to be us or fuck us. We aspirational, mami.”

“Oh my god,” Beth says, laughing. “You’re so full of yourself.”

And Rio grins widely at her, his eyes crinkling in that way she likes best, his hands lowering to unbutton his shirt the whole way down, and she means to ask him what he’s doing – if he’s planning on going for a swim, only what comes out is:

“I don’t think Gretchen finds me particularly aspirational.”

“She don’t really know you yet,” Rio replies easily, not so much as slowing his hands trail down his shirt. “Plus she’s paranoid. It‘s good, it’s what I pay her for, but you _are_ the reason she had to haul my ass outta federal court three years ago, remember?”

And Beth rolls her eyes again, shaking her head.

“How could I not? She brings it up practically every time I see her.”

“Yeah, that’s just coz she thinks it’s funny to see how pale you can get,” Rio says grinning, and Beth just gives him her best dead-eyed stare.

“Caroline likes you.”

And - - _what_? Beth blinks in surprise.

“No she doesn’t.”

“Yeah, your sister too. Apparently talked to her for hours at our housewarmin’ about dead animals in fruit trucks?” Rio rolls his eyes, somehow both affectionate and disgusted. “Apparently Caroline used to work in a grocery store too when she was younger. Enjoyed comparin’ horror stories with her. Learnin’ those places ain’t changed. Think you and me might need to invest in a farm or somethin’ to make sure we feedin’ the kids well.”

“A farm?” Beth asks, laughing. “Sure, let’s add it to the retirement plan.”

Rio laughs again, but he doesn’t dispute it, and a comfortable quiet settles over them, the tinkling of the music and the quiet hum of the pool filter taking up the space between them. Beth’s starting to think about rejoining the tour (and maybe finding another glass of champagne) when Rio suddenly pulls the rest of his shirt up and asks:

“Wanna go for a swim?”

Reeling back around, Beth just stares at him.

“What?”

His grin widening, Rio quickly swallows it, sucking in his lip as he nods his head towards the pool and Beth follows his gaze towards the clear surface and just - - god, it really does look inviting.

“Really?” she asks, tone dry, and Rio shrugs, reaching for his belt.

“My money paid for it,” he says easily, and Beth rolls her eyes.

“That doesn’t make it yours.”

He gives her a look like he patently disagrees with her on that, and Beth can’t quite bite back her laugh, shaking her head. Before she can say anything though, Rio promptly interjects.

“Hm, now that I think on it, pretty sure my money paid for that dress too,” he says, eyeing her off, and Beth arches an eyebrow at that, heat rushing south even as she tries to look as innocently back at him as possible.

“Oh, did you want it back?”

“You know, I think I do.”

And Beth just rolls her eyes again at that, and Rio laughs, shucking out of his pants and then his underwear, and just like that, he bounds forwards and dives in. The arc of his body graceful as he breaks the water surface, and Beth watches, oddly breathlessly, as his lean, sharp body glides below. He’s almost at the other end of the pool before he breaks through again, pausing to tread water in the deep end, his skin glistening beneath the twinkling pool lights.

“Cute,” Beth says, keeping her tone as dry as possible. She reaches down to pick up his slacks, then his underwear, folding them neatly and placing them with his blazer and tie on the wicker chair.

“C’mon, mami,” he calls. “You gonna leave me here?”

“Yes,” Beth says, but she’s already peeling down her pantyhose and pulling the zip down on the back of her dress. Rio grins, watching her from the water as she hesitates only briefly before – fuck it. The water does look great, and she loves to swim, and she’s still a little (more than a little) drunk and there’s just - - something horribly romantic about this right now, with the lights and the water and - - and _him_.

Everything always feels romantic with him.

She pulls off her dress, folds it beside his clothes and her pantyhose, before biting her lip, looking down at her panties and her bra and she’d keep them on if she didn’t know they’d soak through the fabric of her dress afterwards and just - - right, she thinks. Shucking quickly out of both, and darting towards the water, shivering in the cold and thrumming with adrenaline, and then the water is just the perfect temperature when she slips her body in, which of course it is, and Beth breathes out a sigh of relief, knowing that they haven’t been found out yet.

She half expects Rio to have swum back over to her, but when she looks up, he’s right where he was, a smug grin on his face and a hot look in his eyes, even from here, and she could stay. Knows she could. Knows she could make him come to her, just - - she doesn’t want to. Not tonight.

The tiles are rough beneath her feet as she pads towards him until it’s too deep to walk, and then she swims the last of the way towards him, and he just watches her, like he always does, and she watches him too. The way the twinkling fairy lights cast only the faintest glow across his features, casting the angles of his face starkly. She can’t help it, the way her eyes drop to his lips, feeling the way the water pushes and pulls between them.

“Hi,” she says, and Rio swims a little closer, until she can feel his legs treading water between her own. “Can we never throw a party like this?”

And it must catch him by surprise, because he laughs, throwing his head back, grabbing her legs and wrapping them around his waist, the water whooshing around them, her slippery body colliding easily with him. His hands settle on her ass, holding her to him.

“Oh, so you gonna say it?”

“Gonna say what?”

“That I was right and you were - - hmm, what’s the opposite of that again?”

“I was not _wrong_,” Beth squawks, waving out the hand that’s not latched onto Rio’s shoulder, and his innocent expression doesn’t even falter.

“No?”

“No,” Beth insists, squinting, prickly with annoyance suddenly, and Rio furrows his brow, sucks in his lips in faux consideration.

“Think I told you this shit was gonna be borin’ as hell, and you said - -”

“That Gretchen struck me as the type of person who knows how to throw a party, and she does. This party has been thrown. It’s very well organised.”

“It fuckin’ sucks, ma,” he tells her easily, and Beth tilts up her nose.

“I didn’t say it was going to be a _fun_ party. I said it was going to be _fancy_.”

And Rio just laughs, loud and lyrical, drowning out the music, the pool filter, filling Beth’s ears in the best possible way.

“You got a gift, you know that?”

“For what?”

“Re-writin’ history.”

Beth huffs out a breath at that, because honestly, she didn’t re-write a single thing. She just feels differently now and as she tells their children (and Annie), that’s indicative of _growth _not _lying _and - -

“Anyway,” Rio chimes. “I know a way we can make it better.”

Beth looks at him carefully, and then Rio rolls his hips and just - -

Beth gasps, scandalised.

“We are not having sex in this pool.”

“What’d you think we’d be doin’ in it? We ain’t wearin’ clothes.”

“Skinny dipping is a thing.”

“Yeah, foreplay.”

She splashes him and he kisses her, hard and fast, and Beth moans, her hands coming up to the back of his head, her nails raking through his hair, and god, she just - - melts into it. Melts into _him_. It’s really not fair, how good he is at this, she thinks, arching her back, pressing her breasts into his chest, just to hear him groan, unsurprised when he bites her lip in retaliation.

It’s not long before he’s hard beneath her and he’s slowly swimming them over to the poolside, enough he can press her back into the tiles, giving her the time to lower a hand between them, wrap it around his cock and line it up with herself until he can push in. Beth drops her head back, moaning, the feel of the water lapping at their skin, coolly encompassing them. Rio hums, his mouth latching onto her neck, sucking in a bruise, and she arches her back against the side of the pool, tries to get closer against him, always, exhaling hoarsely, her hand scratching down his back as he rolls his hips against hers, burying his cock deeper, and - -

“This room is probably our favourite. We actually met at a garden party in Boston almost twenty years ago now, so in a lot of ways this room is actually a - -"

Beth gasps, head reeling, glancing over to where Gretchen and Caroline have backed into the room, and she flounders briefly, trying to tug both herself and Rio further down in the water, and god, Beth thinks, a mortified flush bleeding across her face and chest, at least only Gretchen seems to have seen them.

“You know what, I actually forgot a stop on our tour. Caroline, would you mind showing our guests the wall of original photographs we commissioned from the up and coming artist, Vanessa Miller.”

“Of course,” Caroline says, eyes darting over Gretchen’s face while Beth mostly just tries to get herself and Rio under the cover of water, trying to smother his laughs into her chest. The group files out, and Beth breathes a sigh of relief, at least – she does until a long, thin shadow settles over them, and just - -

Beth clenches her eyes shut.

“You know I only ever invite you to these things with what I thought was an unspoken agreement that you _don’t come_,” Gretchen says above them, and Rio blinks up at her innocently, still buried to the hilt in Beth, and just - - god, they’re naked in her _pool_, and Beth doesn’t think it’s possible to be any more red.

“To be fair, I haven’t yet,” Rio says innocently, and Beth was clearly wrong. She slaps him at the same time Gretchen makes a noise of barely contained horror.

“Okay, Beth,” Gretchen says loudly, changing focus, and Beth lifts her head enough to look at her. “It was lovely to see you. Do whatever you need to do, but then take him home.”

Offering only a meek nod, Beth curls her toes in the water, already thinking of ways she can bury this memory, as Gretchen turns on her heel to stride out of the garden, back to the hall.

“I’m adding the cleaning fee to your bill, Velasquez,” Gretchen calls behind her, and Rio laughs, utterly delighted, and Beth vaguely wonders if Gretchen would be willing to represent her after she _murdered _him.

“This is hands down the worst thing you’ve ever done,” Beth tells him and Rio blinks at her, forehead furrowed, hands firming on her ass.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Beth reiterates, taking a hand off his back to gesture out around them. “You - - - _ah_.”

And, well, she thinks, legs tightening around his waist as he thrusts into her.

Gretchen did tell them to do what they needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beth's dress: 
> 
> Title from Sia's Chandelier.


	14. Two Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts: 
> 
> “I might just kiss you.” / “It’s not always like this.” + anon prompt: Alright I know you probably have a bunch of these but I have a prompt for Playing House. Prompt: Rio has a really tough day at work(like real shitty) and Beth senses it even though he tries to put on a brave face for her and the kids. She does/plans something to make him feel special and loved.
> 
> (Early-ish. Probably three or four months after I Could Be Your Welcome + See You in the Light)

There’s blood at his knuckles. 

Ain’t the first time, and he’s sure it won’t be the last, but still – he finds his gaze fixed briefly on it anyway, flexing his hand, feeling the ache in it already. His skin ain’t split though, which means the blood belongs to the guy in front of him, this wiry fuck who’s already spat out two of his teeth on the floor between them, drool oozin’ out of his mouth, so thick with blood it’s almost black, and ain’t that a picture, Rio thinks, resting back into his heels.

His gaze flicks to Demon, and it’s all it takes for him to start rolling the silencer onto his gun. 

“No, please,” Vinny moans, squirming back against the chair, hiccupping, feet leavin’ smears of dirt against the concrete floor of the warehouse. “I’ve got a family, I’ve got kids.” 

And sure, Rio thinks, rolling his head back towards Vinny, keepin’ his face carefully blank. There’s a chill in the air, but Rio ain’t feelin’ it, not in here, not with the heat of the fight still thunderin’ through his veins, not with the righteous fury still boilin’ in his gut because shit, none of them should even be here, none of them _would _if it wasn’t for Vinny. Rio raises an eyebrow, pulling his expression into a look of faux care.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, yes, they - - I have - - my eldest is barely six years old. You know Emily. She’s just started school, she - -” 

“You think about her when you stole my product?” Rio asks, voice lowly drawlin’. “You think about that little girl when you took out the connect?” 

At least that’s enough to shut the fucker up, leave him splutterin’ on his own blood like he’s bein’ waterboarded, and Rio just watches him. Watches the lines of his throat twitch, his blackened eye swelling shut. He remembers getting shawarma with the guy. Remembers beers at Cisco’s. Thinks he might even remember the guy’s daughter for real – blonde, dimpled, all puppy fat cute like one of his sister’s old Cabbage Patch Dolls. 

Mostly though he remembers this fuckin’ trip. Remembers sending this guy, days ago, out to pick up pills from Marta in Canada only to hear that the pills were gone and Marta was dead, and this fuck was nowhere to be found, and shit. 

Marta had kids too. 

“Rio, man, please. I fucked up, I know that, I - -” 

Rio gives Demon the nod. 

*

Demon offers him a cigarette, but Rio shakes his head, pulling his keys out of the back pocket of his jeans as he watches Diego hurl his guts up onto the concrete a few steps away. Kid’s pretty new – can’t be much older than 21, but both Dags and Bullet had vouched for him. Said he was loyal, quiet, got the job done. They’d worked with him on one of their smaller side hustles, and Rio figured what the hell. New blood could be good for the operation. This sorta trial was always good for the new intake too – let them see what waited for ‘em if they got in their egos, if they thought they could pull one over. 

And Rio had been impressed enough. The kid hadn’t complained, had helped get Vinny here, even thrown a few good punches and helped Demon clean the body of any prints or DNA before gettin’ rid of it. The vomitin’ was a good sign too, for a kid this green. Death should matter. Should scare you. It means you treat it serious. Means you ain’t cappin’ people without cause.

It’s what keeps you kickin’. 

“A drink then. Fuck, I need one,” Demon says, and Rio flicks his gaze back to him. “Back to the hotel?” 

And he probably should. Their rooms are already booked, paid for. They’ve been stayin’ there for a few nights – had crossed the border and holed up as soon as Rio had gotten word of Marta, knowin’ just how quick they had to move to pull Vinny out before he could burrow too deep. Knew how quickly this situation needed handlin’. 

Elizabeth hadn’t liked it. 

Had done that thing where she’d tried to come with him – goin’ so far this time as to pack a bag and put it in the trunk of his car, plant herself in the passenger seat, and he’d practically had to drag her outta the thing. It hadn’t been until he’d told her she needed to stay to look after the dealership, the drops, keep business runnin’ that she’d agreed (although she’d still been prickly at that). 

Truth was, it hadn’t just been business – although he couldn’t exactly deny it’d been good not to have to worry about it, to trust her enough to keep it runnin’ smoothly. Hadn’t even just been about the house neither, although it _had _been about that too. The kids were still gettin’ used to the new house and the new routine after all, especially hers, and he’s learnt fast how quick those seeds of guilt plant in her when it comes to them, knows how easily they grow, how ripe their fruits are, had known how twisted up she’d get herself if anythin’ happened while they were in Canada and the kids were in Detroit with her sister or her friend or - - worse - - that dumbass ex of hers. 

Nah, it wasn’t just that. 

What it was was he didn’t like her on these jobs. 

Didn’t like her reckless ass ignorin’ plans or mouthin’ off, didn’t like her stormin’ into situations like that face and that body was some sort of armor, and, hell, didn’t like none of these guys _lookin__’ _at that face and that body. Didn’t like them seein’ her, didn’t like them standin’ so close to her, didn’t like the fact that he dreamt of it sometimes. That clenched jaw of hers, somebody else’s gun underneath it, somebody who didn’t have anythin’ stoppin’ them from pullin’ the trigger, and just - - 

Shit. 

Rio rubs at his head. 

He _does_ want a drink. 

More than that, he wants a fuck. Wants to release this livewire of tension in him, wants to lose himself in a body underneath him, but the only body he wants is Elizabeth’s, and he could drive home tonight, but that would mean talkin’ to her. Would mean gussyin’ up to her Bambi-eyed interrogation. 

She’d be in her ugly ass pyjamas, he thinks, and the picture of it comes too quickly. 

Probably the ones he hates the most. The cream satin ones with those little orange flowers. Sittin’ up in their bed, nipples hard, pokin’ up through her shirt, those pale cheeks of hers flushed pink, her eyes a little wet, her hair a mess, waitin’, breathless, for him, and - - 

He snorts. 

Who’s he kidding? 

More likely angrily scrubbin’ dishes at 2am and ready to ask him a million questions he don’t wanna answer. 

Shit. 

Marta and Vinny. 

“You know Vinny’s family?” Rio asks, turning back towards Demon, who nods. “Send ‘em the usual?” 

“50g? You wanna send it cash or wire transfer?” 

Rio tilts his head from side-to-side, considering. 

“Cash,” he decides. “Send a hundred to Marta’s. Deliver it in person. We’re gonna need a new connect for the pills.” 

Demon just hums in affirmation, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, before he says: “I’ll stick around a few days. Get it sorted. Take it this means it’s a no for the drink?” 

Rio blinks, surprised, hadn’t even quite realised that that was what he was doing, but as soon as Demon’s said it, he knows he’s right. 

Thing is, it ain’t even like Elizabeth’s the first woman he’s wanted to lose himself in after bad days, just it’s barely even about fucking her at this point. Just - - he wants to bury himself in her until she’s all he can smell, until the taste of her skin is hot on his tongue, until he’s close enough to her he can count her eyelashes, and shit, that ain’t a thought he’s used to. Ain’t even one he’s particularly comfortable with. 

Just - - he thinks of another cold night in the hotel alone and tense, and then thinks about bein’ home instead, thinks of her asleep, thinks of not wakin’ her to postpone her questions and the inevitable argument, thinks of crawlin’ into bed beside her, layin’ his head on her breast, the softness of her beneath him remindin’ him of all the ways he ain’t, her heartbeat fluttering beneath his ear, the way, only half awake, she runs her nails down his scalp, the way she smooths her too-smooth fingers at the base of his neck, and it’s urgent suddenly. The need in him. 

He could be there in two hours. 

“Call me tomorrow, yeah? Let me know how you go? Keep Diego with you. Show ‘im the ropes.” 

Demon makes an acknowledging gesture with his hand, and Rio heads out into the night. 

* 

The house is dark when he pulls up, the only light comin’ from the back porch because Elizabeth swears it makes her feel safe (like the half a million dollar security system he bought doesn’t), and it means she’s not expecting him. Means she might actually be asleep. Means maybe she took him seriously for a change when he told her to stop waitin’, stop callin’, that he’d back when it was over. 

He slips into the house, disarming the security system and beelining for the laundry. He kicks his shoes off, washes his face, his bruised hands in the sink, before filling it to soak his bloodied clothes in, adding the disinfectant from the cupboard, and stripping off to his boxer briefs there and then. It had been at Elizabeth’s insistence the first time he’d done this that they add the lock to the laundry room door, just to keep the kids out, and he’s glad for it now, for the ability to leave his shirt there, reddening the water, without worry. 

Running a hand over his face, he grabs a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from the pile of clean laundry in the basket, steps out, fixes himself a drink at the bar cart in the living room, finishes it there alone, trying to steady his hands, his breath, to calm his frayed nerves before he allows himself the comfort of bein’ beside her. Tries to wrestle out of the maw of the last few days, of Vinny’s slack jaw and Marta in a body bag, scrubbing briefly at his face and finishing the last of his drink before starting up the stairs towards bed. 

There’s somethin’ to be said there about the moonlight through the window, the too soft glow of the night outside of here, softening everything in its path, and Elizabeth is right there in the middle of it, curled up on her side in their bed, her hair fanned out against their pillows, bags beneath her eyes like she hasn’t slept well in days, which - - fuck, somethin’ in him twists at the thought, but then – right there, nestled into her chest, is Marcus. 

It’s enough to make Rio stop in the doorway, dig his arm into the doorframe, enough it might leave a mark, enough it pinches. He should leave him, he thinks, slide into bed beside ‘em and leave it be, but then - - 

Vinny’s blood is thick on his hands tonight, the weight of him heavy on his back, and he needs Marcus just - - _away _from it. Away from him, at least until the mornin’ comes, at least until he’s had the time to put this night behind him, to wash the stench of it off, and shit, he thinks, almost crawling out of his skin, leg jittery with tension beneath him. This ain’t somethin’ to be shared, not with him. 

He strides quietly over to the bed, gently tugging his son out of Elizabeth’s arms, relieved more than anything when Marcus comes easily. He lifts him up, carrying him quietly down the hall and flipping on the light to his bedroom. It’s neat at least, which makes it easy to take him down, to flip over the sheets of his bed and lower his son into them. His head’s barely hit the pillow when suddenly big, dark eyes are bein’ turned on him, the kid’s little mouth fallin’ open like a spell. 

“Daddy?” 

“Go to sleep, pop,” Rio hums, and when Marcus tries to sit up, he gently pushes him back down. 

“You’re home!” 

“Nuh, but I will be tomorrow. You’re dreamin’ right now, yeah?” he keeps his voice low, dulcet, brushes his hands through Marcus’ hair, tucking him back down beneath the covers. “Faster you fall asleep, faster you’ll wake up, faster I’ll be home.” 

And he doesn’t think the kid really believes it, but still, Marcus hums sleepily, happily, back at him, his eyes driftin’ shut again and Rio just - - watches him. Watches the rise and fall of his chest and the flutter of his eyelashes and he thinks how easily he could never see it again, like Marta won’t, like Vinny, and just - - _shit_.

He rubs a hand hard over the back of his head.

Not worth thinkin’ about now, he tells himself, slipping back out of his bedroom and heading back towards his own. It’s only then that the exhaustion really catches up with him – hits him square between the shoulders like somethin’ out of a cartoon, and he swipes at his forehead as he heads back towards their bed, gaze only flicking up to see Elizabeth sleepin’ soundly, the soft curve of her body like an invitation, and his eyes travel too easily down her, from her peaceful face to the arc of her shoulder and the dip of her waist, the long trail of her legs and - - he just - - 

Stops. 

There’s a lump at the foot of their bed, tangled up in the sheets, and Rio steps slowly towards it, eyeing off the mound of it when the lump squirms back suddenly, and shit, Rio thinks. He rolls his eyes, reaches for the blankets, lifting it just in time to see Jane peer back up at him, dubby in her fist, her little face scrunched up, half hidden in a bunny rabbit onesie and it must be a hand-me-down from Emma, because she’s swimmin’ in it. 

“’ey,” he hums, and Jane blinks up at him, bright eyed, before she pants like a dog, wiggles her butt, goes to bark, but Rio frowns, pushes a finger to his lips and jerks his head to where Elizabeth is sleeping. 

“Don’t wake your mama up. C’mon.” 

He holds his hands out for her to leap into, only she pulls her face into a little scowl, shaking her head. 

“No,” Jane growls, and Rio rolls his eyes again, frustration sparking in his belly. 

“I ain’t playin’, darlin’, c’mon. It’s way past bedtime.” 

And Jane just - - shit, she sticks out her tongue, and Rio exhales sharply, feels the stress of the day and the exhaustion of tonight press hard at his temples, but he smooths out his expression as best he can, reachin’ over to her, only she’s trying to tangle herself up in her mother’s legs, and Jesus, Elizabeth must be real tired if this don’t even wake her. Before Jane can get herself too wrapped up, Rio moves closer, pluckin’ her out of bed by the back of her onesie and pulling her unceremoniously away from Elizabeth. 

He intends to lift her straight up into his arms and walk her to bed like he’d just done Marcus, but Jane starts thrashin’ the second she’s in the air, and shit, Rio grunts and then he’s gotta loosen his grip or he might accidentally hurt her, but loosenin’ his grip only serves to make Jane spring off the bed and sprint down the hallway in a flurry of pink fleece and animal ears. Behind him, Elizabeth stirs, and Rio’s head whips around, waiting for her to resettle before he moves quietly to the doorway. Jane’s standing at the top of the stairs, her little face peering out from beneath her bunny rabbit hood, and Rio frowns at her, gesturing his head to her bedroom. 

Jane shakes her own head furiously in reply, and Rio exhales sharply, stepping out into the hallway, unsurprised when Jane retaliates by clutching at the railing and starting down the stairs, and shit, he thinks, picking up his step. The booties on her pyjamas are so big she’s gonna trip herself up, tumble head-first over them. He moves quickly enough to grab her underneath the arms and when she starts to yelp and thrash again, he spins her quickly in his arms, until they’re practically nose-to-nose. 

“What’d you want?” he asks her, staring her down, because shit, his nerves ain’t here for tantrums tonight, and Jane just looks back at him, long and hard, little jaw rockin’, and this kid really is somethin’ else, and as much as he hates to admit it, if he were in a better mood, he might be amused. 

“Special drink,” Jane settles on, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, about to tell her it ain’t the time, but then - - shit, Elizabeth’s concoction of milk heated on the stove, honey, cloves and cinnamon really does seem to knock ‘em out. Maybe he can ground in a Nyquil to help. 

“Then you go to your bed?” 

Jane nods, and Rio does too, resignedly pushing her onto his hip and taking the stairs two at a time until he hits the bottom. He thinks about just depositing Jane on the couch, lettin’ her watch somethin’ bland and g-rated on the TV, but then he doesn’t really trust her not to sneak up the stairs, back beneath Elizabeth’s arm, and if she gets there again, Rio’s knows he’s gonna be subjectin’ himself to the couch. 

So he deposits her on a stool at the kitchen island instead, glancing around the kitchen only to stop when he spots the pot on the stove and the spice packets already on the bench. He walks over, grabbing the pot and looking at the thin rim of milk build-up cooked into the sides of it. 

“Looks like your mama already made special drink,” he says, rinsing out the pot and Jane just shakes her head. 

“She made it for Marcus, not me,” Jane tells him. “She always makes it, so it’s not special anymore. It’s just regular drink.” 

Rio arches an eyebrow, glancing back at her. 

“That right?” he asks. “But it’s special drink when I make it?” 

“Yup.” 

And shit, she might be right. He ain’t ever made it before, and at least the fact that Elizabeth’s already made it for Marcus tonight means the ingredients are there for him. He racks his head for the steps, for the muscle memory of havin’ watched her make this thing a million times before, and - - right, milk on the stove. He grabs a jug from the fridge. 

“Your hand looks funny.” 

Rio glances over at Jane as he moves to flick the stove on, that damn blanket of hers half shoved in her mouth, the floppy rabbit ears of her hood hangin’ down past her shoulder. He looks at his hand and the bruises really are bad – a dark, bloomin’ purple that he knows will only stiffen over the next few days. Will swell and throb and he resists the urge to shake it out. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and Jane rocks her head from side-to-side, considering. 

“It’s like when I felled over. Did you felled over?” 

“Fall,” he corrects, and when he looks over at her, Jane’s blinking at him in confusion, her blue eyes wide, her lips parted. He clarifies: “Did you fall over? Not felled, darlin’.” 

“Did you fall over?” Jane echoes, and Rio turns back to the milk on the stove, reaching for the cinnamon. He looks at his knuckles as he shakes in the spice, and wonders if he should’ve worn gloves, somethin’ that might’ve covered them from view. 

“Somethin’ like that,” he replies, capping the spice cannister, and it takes Jane a minute to reply, like she’s processin’ it, workin’ out what she want to say, and Rio lets her, his gaze fixed down on the way the cinnamon turns the colour of the milk, brownin’ it up. He blinks and sees the cinnamon, he blinks and he sees the blood on Vinny’s pale cheek.

He grabs the packet of cloves. 

“Is that why you went away?” 

Shit, how much of this stuff does Elizabeth usually put in? He shoves a finger into the packet of cloves, nudging them around, and finally scoops out a handful, watchin’ them bob around in the milk.

“What’d your mama say?” 

“That you had to work.” 

“Your mama ever lied to you?” 

“No.” 

“So I was workin’,” he tells her easily, glancing back around to look at her, and it ain’t exactly sudden, seein’ Emily in Jane’s place, propped up at the kitchen island, but it still takes him by surprise, makes him rock his jaw, jerk his head away, try to focus on the simmer of the milk and the sound of Jane’s feet, thumpin’ against the chair.

Jane ain’t Emily, she ain’t gonna lose a parent to this. She - 

“When my daddy goes away for work, he brings us presents home,” Jane says, and Rio snorts.

Okay, maybe she’ll lose one parent to this. Rio can’t exactly say he’s keepin’ Dean off any lists. Shit, might be addin’ him to a few. (Not really, although - - he ain’t rulin’ it out). Still, he shifts his weight back, grabbing a spoon to scoop in some honey. 

“Yeah? Like what?” 

“Like candy or dollies.” 

The honey oozes off the spoon into the milk, like Vinny’s bloodied drool to the concrete floor, and Rio’s voice is duller than he means when he says:

“Huh. Why you think he do that?” 

Jane pauses, and the question must surprise her, her little mouth hangin’ open for a moment, until she shoves the dubby in it instead. Rio has to resist the urge to tug it out, had made that mistake only a few weeks after movin’, had had to endure Jane’s hysterics and Beth’s frustration (“She only started doing it after Dean moved out, it comforts her, just - - leave it, please.”) 

“I don’t know,” Jane replies now around a mouthful of blanket, and Rio hums, grabbing her sippy cup off the strainer and pouring in the milk, making sure it’s not too hot in the process. He puts the top on, and glances at her, considering. He could just give it to her here, but in the end he holds up his hands, and Jane moves easily into them this time, lets him carry her to the couch, lets him hold her as he flops down on it, her body sideways in his lap, cradled in his arms like he’d do when Marcus was a toddler, like he still does sometimes, when he’s sick or needy. 

And it’s funny, coz Jane fits like Marcus used to. Kid had a growth spurt recently after all, overtakin’ even Emma, and it all serves to make Jane all the tinier. Like her aunt, Rio thinks, briefly amused, then – more so, huffing out a laugh – like her mama when she finally pulls her pumps off at the end of the night.

(How big are Marta’s kids? Does he even know?)

“Order’s up,” he tells Jane, passing her the cup and letting her wriggle up until she’s practically using his arm as a hammock, her legs sprawled out across his own. She takes a generous drink only to reel slightly up. 

“Yuck,” she says, spluttering, and Rio groans looking down at her, grabbing the cup and taking a sip, only to cough because shit - - it’s bad. Way too much cinnamon, enough it tastes almost like ash in his mouth, and maybe he’ll just leave it out entirely this time. Can’t fuck up just milk and honey, can he? He moves to get up, to make another, when Jane suddenly snatches at the cup again, clutching the sippy to her chest before shoving the nozzle back into her mouth. “No, I like it.” 

And figures, Rio thinks, arching an eyebrow down at her as she wriggles back against his chest, sucking on the sippy cup, her eyes already half-lidded. He feels his own lids drop too, like they’re playin’ some game of Simon Says (go to sleep), and he could almost doze himself when Jane reaches the hand not holdin’ the cup out to his. She pushes out a tiny pointer finger and taps him on each of his bruised knuckles and he just - - watches her do it. Watches this scrap of Elizabeth play the hand he broke Vinny’s jaw with like a piano.

“Marcus and mommy are upset at you,” she says suddenly, half muffled around the sippy cup, and Rio’s gaze shifts from their hands to her face, but she ain’t lookin’ at him. She’s lookin’ at their hands, and after a minute, he sighs.

“I know,” he tells her. “They don’t like it when I gotta go away like that. I don’t like it neither, but sometimes I just gotta.” 

Jane sucks the nozzle back into her mouth, staring up at him now, her eyes unblinkin’, and he always thinks it’s her sister that looks most like Elizabeth, but this one doesn’t go without, not with the steadiness of her gaze and the set to her jaw.

“It’s three,” she tells him, and Rio blinks down at her.

“What’s three?” 

“Three times you gone away.” 

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that, and Rio stares at her, unblinking now, as Jane holds up her hand.

“Just after we moved here,” she ticks it off on her fingers. “Then the other time, now this time. That’s three.” 

And shit, she ain’t wrong. He mostly thought Jane barely noticed. Not like anyone would ever mistake her for the most perceptive of Elizabeth’s kids (not that any of ‘em really are), but Jane’s all energy and distraction and shit. He’s been busy. He’s always busy, and Marcus has never liked it. Never liked the fact that sometimes he just gotta move, gotta bring things back, gotta handle things, but - - 

“It’s not always like this,” he says, and Jane looks up at him, and there are too many expressions that pass over her round little face – disbelief and childish frustration until it finally settles on somethin’ else, somethin’ softer, less certain, somethin’ he ain’t seen on her face, at least not somethin’ he’s seen directed at him. 

“You didn’t say bye,” she says finally, her voice small, and Rio exhales, annoyed. 

“I did, darlin’,” because he did. Shit, got to fight about it with Elizabeth and leave Marcus red faced and weepy, made sure of that, but then - - 

He looks at Jane and any self-righteousness dies on his tongue.

“Not to you though, huh?” he says softly, and Jane shuffles back into his arm, presses her forehead into his chest, out of sight, the nozzle of the sippy cup sucked into her mouth like a bottle, keeps herself looking away from him, and Rio exhales. He looks down at his bruised hands, then at her feet, where the booties of her onesie hang limply down the side of the couch, her feet lost somewhere in the legs of the thing, the hood of it hangin’ so far down her face it almost covers her eyes, and he reaches up to tug it back, just enough he can see her. 

“’m sorry. Think maybe I’m still gettin’ used to this,” he says, because he hadn’t said goodbye to any of Elizabeth’s kids. Had trusted her to do it for him, had treated them like they were just a part of her, but - -

They ain’t.

They’re - -

Well.

Fuck.

Jane looks up at him, her eyes a little glassy and just - - he ain’t sure what that is, the feelin’ in his gut, hollowing itself out. “Can you be the first one I say hey to instead?” 

She makes a show of turnin’ it over, her squirming against his chest and drinkin’ that goddamn awful drink he’s made her, but then she nods, and Rio tugs on one of her rabbit ears. 

“’ey, Jane,” he says quietly. “You been good for your mama while I been gone?” 

And she grins a little at that, shakes her head into his chest again, giggling before she can stop herself, and Rio smiles too, but rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

He almost reaches out to her, but before he gets the chance to, Jane wriggles up his body, curls her arms around his neck, and Rio leans down, scooping her up closer, feeling her collapse sleepily into his chest, still slurping at that drink, and hell if that ain’t commitment. He exhales a laugh, dropping a hand to her back, and it practically takes up the width of it, and he can’t say what he feels, feelin’ the rise and fall of her chest against his, her snufflin’ breaths against his shoulder.

And it’s hard enough, but then he exhales and he hears Vinny’s last one, and his hand tightens on her back, and he just - -

Needs to put her to bed.

Needs her safe and happy and dreamin’ of her mama and _Paw Patrol_ and out of his nightmares, and when he stands up this time, starts up the stairs, when he finally does put her to bed, she don’t make a sound.

And then just, tuckin’ her in - - all his energy’s gone, sapped out of him, and any jittery tension he’d needed to lose has gone cold in his chest, left him pulled thin and stretched out, and shit, he thinks, rubbing furiously at his forehead, it’s just - -

Just is, he reminds himself.

There wasn’t a way around it. Not a way that’d keep him and his safe. 

And he can do this for his ma, he can do it for his sisters, he can do it for his son.

Can do it for Elizabeth and her kids too.

Can - - he exhales, leavin’ the thought alone, pulling his hand away from his face, grabbin’ the sippy cup from Jane’s iron grip instead and droppin’ it to her bedside table so it don’t soak through her sheets, flickin’ on her nightlight before slipping out of her room.

And it figures, that Elizabeth would be awake now, when he finally gets back to their (freshly) childfree bedroom, her blue eyes blinkin’ sleepily back at him, from her - -

Nah, he realises, _his _pillow.

“You put the kids to bed?” she whispers, pushing herself up onto her elbow, and Rio nods stripping off his t-shirt, arching his back, hearing it crack.

“You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be,” she adds, and Rio nods, padding over to the bed. He should leave his sweats on, knows he should, but for whatever reason, he can’t quite make himself. Just wants to be rid of them, rid of his underwear, rid of all of it. Wants to shower, but doesn’t have the energy to, so instead he just strips everythin’ off, sliding into bed beside Elizabeth. 

She doesn’t complain for a change, doesn’t squawk or pout or nag him to put his clothes back on. She just watches him, her blue eyes too clear, her features drawn. 

“Is it done?” she asks, and Rio sighs. 

“Would I be home if it weren’t?” 

It’s sharper than he means it to be and she looks a little wounded, and Rio exhales, because shit, he’s the one who don’t want this fight. Just looks at her for a moment, and it ain’t fair, that she can look this sweet, that her eyes and her body can sing like a siren in the night, callin’ for him across borders, across countries, callin’ him home, and he reaches a hand to touch her face because he wants to - - _needs_ to feel her, but shit, it was the wrong move, because she’s gaspin’, grabbin’ his hand instead, a high-pitched sound escaping her throat when she sees how bruised it is. 

“Let me see it.” 

He yanks his hand out of her grip, curling it around her waist instead, pulling her beneath him, entangling their legs, hidin’ his hand half up her pyjama shirt. 

“Are you hurt?” she asks, and he can tell she wants to squirm out of his grip, to try and flip ‘em over so she can look at him properly, find somethin’ to nurse, but she ain’t got a clue how hurt he actually is, so won’t do it, and for once, he don’t want to correct her. 

“Keep askin’ questions and I might just have to kiss you,” he drawls, the _to shut you up _implied as he nestles his face into her chest, nosing between the buttons on her pyjama shirt so forcefully that the tip of it brushes the inner curve of her breast, inhaling deeply the faint smell of sweat and peach bodywash and that smell beneath it all that’s just _her_. 

“You say that like it’s a threat,” she replies, the words light, jokin’, but her tone ain’t real, and he knows she’d let him, but he also knows she don’t want him to. That she’d give him sex tonight like a gift, and that’s not how he wants this, not with her, not now. He just - -

Shit, he just wants to hold her, but he don’t know how the fuck to say that.

She inhales above him, a little wet, a little damp, like she might be cryin’ a bit, and she says, “Rio, what – ” 

He sucks in a breath, clenches his eyes shut, hand tightening on her waist.

“Not tonight, darlin’,” he says, his voice hoarse, cutting her off, and then - - because how can he say the rest of it? He just says: “Please.” 

The word hangs between them, and then it’s those too-soft fingers of hers, pressin’ tentatively to the back of his neck, and he exhales, harsh and wet against her breast, sinking his head heavily down against her chest, his mouth open as her fingers firm there and he knows she’ll be back on this shit tomorrow, that he’ll have to tell her somethin’, that he’ll have to make sure that money gets to Marta’s kids and to Vinny’s, that the compensation will be nothin’ but he lets Elizabeth massage the guilt out of his neck for now and finally he lets his eyelids flutter shut. 


	15. Stick to the Rivers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: “I can’t do this without you.”

There had been a time, one that sometimes Beth forgets ever was, when Annie and Ruby had both been mothers, and Beth had been - -

Well.

She’s not entirely sure what she’d been. Still Annie’s guardian, she supposes, but Annie had just had Ben, had moved in with Greg and his parents, who doted on the baby and struggled with Annie, and of course she was still Ruby’s best friend, but Ruby was so in love with Stan and together they were so in love with new baby Sara, and so Beth had meandered between both of their lives, offering help, knitting blankets and booties and swaddles, making dinners, looking over cribs while Annie and Ruby napped or showered.

And she knew she was needed, knew that Annie and Ruby both wanted her around, but everything was different, with these two new little humans in the world. Annie and Ruby were different.

Annie and Ruby shed any recklessness or selfishness (at least temporarily in Annie’s case), and became the sorts of patron saints Beth was used to hearing about in school. Doting figures hunched over cribs and cradles, the same words on their tongues like a prayer:

“I could watch her all day.”

They’d both said it, Annie and Ruby, separately and together, over and over again like something they were well-versed in, often glassy eyed, soft smiled, the exhaustion on their faces somehow only making them sweeter, and it wasn’t long before Beth felt it urgently.

Or rather – that she felt the _need _to feel it.

Besides, it’s not like Dean would ever say no to sex and he was open about thinking a baby would be good for her (even said it once, a little drunk, feeling her up in the backseat of his car – “I mean, it would give you something to do all a day, huh?”) but it had taken longer than she’d expected, and the pregnancy had been harder, and by the time the midwife had put Kenny in her arms, she hadn’t felt a thing.

So she’d waited.

Waited for that urge to hit to watch him, cling to him, to look at him the same way Annie and Ruby looked at Ben and Sara, and the less she’d felt the more desperately she’d wanted it, the more furiously her failure had rooted in her, and she couldn’t tell Annie and Ruby, and she couldn’t tell Dean, and so she’d hidden all the nothing she felt as deeply as she could and weathered it alone.

Weathered it until one night Kenny had wriggled up her chest, his breath soft and wet against her neck, his little nose snuffling as her body ached below him, as her nipples had been chafed raw from his demanding mouth, the smell of dirty diapers thick in her nose, and he’d just - - yawned, and the feeling had been so perfect and god, she’d _made him_, _her_, not anybody else, not really, and she hadn’t realised she’d been crying until the tears had soaked into the back of his romper.

After that, she’d felt it too much, felt it raw, like a livewire in her, her eldest son, bright eyed and sweet and _hers _and the point is, moments like now?

Beth could watch him forever right now.

Watch him from the doorway to his room, sitting on the edge of his bed in his pyjamas, sneakers kicked off and upturned on the floor, his back hunched as his fingers work too quickly over the cell phone she really hadn’t wanted to buy him (it had been Rio in the end who’d talked her round – albeit barely – “Shit, ma, he’s almost fifteen. Besides, I can get one of my boys to put a tracker on it.”), the light from the screen glowing at his chin.

“Who’re you texting?” she asks quietly, breaking the silence, and Kenny instantly drops his cell, face down, into his bed. He shrugs, not even looking back at her, and she has only a few moments to worry that he’s not going to reply at all, when he caves.

“Just Ben,” he says. “He gets it. That’s all.”

Beth makes a noise of agreement, because it’s good, she thinks. Ben would get it. Just - - she’s also not entirely sure what Ben's opinion of Dean is. He’s about as restrained with his opinion as Annie is open with hers, even more so now he’s knocking on the door of seventeen, and really Beth has no idea where he’s learnt _that _from (after all – it isn’t like Greg hasn’t always been transparent, even if he’s a little quieter about it than Annie).

“I’m glad you can talk to him,” Beth says, and Kenny does look back at her then, properly this time, and she can’t quite contain her relief when Kenny smiles softly back at her.

“Me too,” he tells her, and Beth smiles in reply. “You can come in if you want.”

It’s more than she expected, but Beth hides her surprise, taking the invitation for what it is (she just wants to be respectful of his space, now that he’s getting older) and stepping into Kenny’s bedroom. She glances around for somewhere to sit, but then, that’s only more upsetting, when she sees Kenny’s freshly empty suitcase on the floor by his desk, and god, he must’ve unpacked the second Judith had dropped them back here. Then again, it’s not like he hasn’t had the time. Beth’s spent most of the night trying to calm Danny and Emma down, who were both weepy with frustration and hurt, while Rio let Jane pummel his chest with her fists before taking her outside to try and run off some of her tantrum-throwing energy with Buddy.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Kenny says, and Beth looks over at him, watching as he grabs his phone off the bed beside him, sliding it into his lap. It takes her a moment to realise that he’s making room for her, and she quickly takes him up on it, sitting on the bed beside him. “There was like, this festival on, and we had corndogs and Dad won Emma this huge pink teddy bear at this like, strong man machine. It was pretty cool.”

It had sounded pretty cool when Dean had told her about it on the phone too when he’d been regaling her with the plans for the week (a fix-it after last month, when he’d left the kids at his mom’s for a week because he’d forgotten about a boat show in Seattle he just couldn’t miss now that he owned the boat rental place in South Haven). Of course, he’d neglected to mention that his new girlfriend would be going with them – Katie Elm – who from Annie’s thorough social media search was a pageant mom and a waxing technician with a bad nose job but a picture-perfect smile.

Beth sighs, twisting her fingers a little at her thighs, before turning around to look at Kenny. To take in the imperfect slope of his nose, his messy hair, his long, gangly legs, and god, he’s going to be as tall as Dean before his birthday at this rate. Mostly though she just takes in the tug at his lips and the glassiness of his eyes.

“It was unfair of him,” she says quietly. “To spring his new girlfriend on you like that.”

“They’re getting married,” Kenny replies promptly, and Beth blinks in surprise at that, her own eyes widening before she tries to stimmy her shock, because - - well, that part of it is news to her. “The others don’t know. Dad only told me because he asked me to be his best man.”

And of course he did, Beth thinks, resisting the urge to get to her feet and drive all the way out to South Haven and _murder _him, because he must’ve known it - - that it’d be the fastest way to get Kenny on board. For the other kids to fall in line behind him.

“What did you say?”

“Yes,” Kenny says miserably, looking away. “I didn’t want to upset him. He was really happy.”

And that’s enough to make Beth exhale sharply. She can practically see Ruby and Annie on her shoulders, angel and devil – it’s between Kenny and Dean – it’s between Dean and whatever blunt object Beth can get her hands on. Still, she forcibly smooths her hands down over her thighs.

“I’m sure your dad will get you a nice suit,” she tries, and Kenny only looks more miserable. 

“They’ve already decided it’s going to be tropical themed. We’re wearing shorts and those seashell necklaces we got in Hawaii.” 

And just - -

Well.

The mental image alone might fuel Annie until the end of time itself.

Beth shakes her head in resignation.

“Well then I’ve got nothing.”

It’s enough to make Kenny burst out laughing, surprised, and Beth starts giggling too, before she can help it, because god, trust Dean to make life just this _absurdity _and she really needs to dial it back, because the last thing she wants is to upset Kenny more, when suddenly he adds: 

“He doesn’t want us around anymore.”

The words hang heavy in the air between them, thick with intent, even as Kenny had sort of half-laughed them, and Beth just sighs, her own laughter dead on her tongue, because she can’t exactly say that he’s wrong. Their custody schedule’s been all over the place for the better part of a year – their original plan of two weeks with one parent, two weeks with the other, has rapidly turned into more and more time at Beth and Rio’s, because Dean has work, a date, is going on holiday, and honestly it wouldn’t bother her – she’d have the kids always if she could – but Dean doesn’t seem to want to tell her until the last possible minute. Like he wants to pretend that his ‘bro’s trip’ with his brother to Vegas was something they thought up on the fly – not something she _knows _he would’ve had to book months out.

“Your dad is - - simple,” Beth says, and at Kenny’s look, Beth laughs. “Not like that. What I mean is he’s a - - a meat and potatoes kind of guy. And life isn’t always meat and potatoes. Sometimes it’s a special sort of curry, with lots of different ingredients, and he just…doesn’t always understand how to eat that, so he tries to make it meat and potatoes, and when that doesn’t work, he just sort of - -”

She flails briefly, trying to find the words, when Kenny fills in for her.

“Throws all the other ingredients out that’s _not _meat and potatoes.”

“I was gonna say flip the table,” Beth says a little dryly, and it’s enough to make Kenny laugh, but it’s a little sad, and Beth looks back at him, taking in his big blue eyes, his mussed hair, and just - - god, he really does look like Dean. “He loves you. He really does. He’s just - - rearranging his plate at the moment, and he doesn’t realise the potatoes are falling off it. But he will. And then he’ll - - he’ll fix it. I know he will.”

And she imbues it with as much belief as she can because just - - she _has _to believe it. She doesn’t know what the alternative is, or maybe she does. Maybe she looks at Dean and the kids and sees the same cycle of affection and fun and betrayal and crushing disappointment that was her marriage but then - - no, she thinks. The kids have got each other, and her, and now they’ve got Rio too, and that was more than she had in those twenty years.

“Thanks, mom.”

Beth smiles softly, leans in to kiss his forehead, and is happier than she can say when he squirms away, making a retching sound in the back of his throat, because at least it means he’s feeling better. She slips easily up off the bed, tossing his sheets down and gesturing him in with a flick of her head, and he rolls his eyes at her, but slides in anyway, letting her tuck him in, letting her pluck his phone out of his grip and plug it into the charger. Even lets her give him another kiss.

She’s at the door, just about ready to flick the light off, when Kenny’s voice sounds behind her.

“Hey, mom? I know I’m not supposed to be here, and it’s not our usual Sunday, but would Rio be okay if we played tennis at the club tomorrow?”

Beth blinks, surprised, although she shouldn’t be. She knows how much Kenny loves playing tennis with Rio, how much Rio likes it too, how much he’d taken to teaching Kenny how to do it (“At least I know there’s one good student in your gene pool, mama,” he’d told her once when Beth had managed somehow to hit herself in the head with a racket.

“I’m yet to be sure there’s a good teacher in yours,” she’d replied snidely, snatching the ice pack out of his hands when he’d offered it.)

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t be,” she tells Kenny now, and she can see his smile even after she turns out the light.

*

“Don’t say it,” Beth says with a groan the second she gets to their room to find Rio still awake in their bed. She toes off her slippers by the bedroom door and shrugs out of her cardigan while Rio makes a production out of not looking up from his book, sprawled out in their bed, shirtless (because god forbid he wear anything even with a houseful of kids and the temperature plummeting in the evenings). She refuses to look too closely at him though because she’s not sure how she’d react to seeing tiny, Jane-fist-sized bruises there, or really even just his smooth, toned chest, which frankly might be worse right now.

Beth’s not sure. It’s been a long night.

“Oh, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” Rio replies from the bed, his voice deep, flipping the page on his book, and Beth squints at him as she walks past the bed into the en suite. She really should just shower, she thinks, peel herself out of her clothes which are crumpled from hugs and a little spotty with children’s tears, and slide herself into bed, but the bath is calling her and before she can stop herself, she drops in the plug, a generous squeeze of bubbles and runs it.

Thing is, none of this is a surprise.

Annie and Ruby (and Stan, although he’d deny it) have more or less been betting on how soon Dean would re-marry since Beth signed the divorce papers, and the fact that he’s lasted this long has been a feat in itself. Still, it’s disappointing, she thinks, pulling off her blouse before unhooking her bra. Stepping out of her jeans.

He’d really seemed like he’d grown up. That he wanted to focus on the kids and rebuilding his life after the divorce, and even more so after seeing her so settled with Rio. He’d taken the school hunt seriously, and the holidays, had made an effort at every step along the way, but this backslide had been a slow crawl, she thinks, and now they were in the thick of it before she even realised. Dean the Boat Guy with his pageant-mom-trophy-wife and his Tropicana wedding and his seeing his kids once in a blue moon and just - -

Beth exhales, rubbing at her face, pulling off her panties and stepping into the bath.

At least she can always trust this to make her feel better, she thinks, easing down into the water. It’s almost too perfect. She’d always liked lavender soaks, but her and Rio had ended up in a geranium bath while staying at a hotel in New York for meetings, and to say she’d fallen in love with the scent was probably an understatement. Rio had seemed to like it too – or rather, liked the memories of that New York hotel tub that the smell of geraniums now sparked (hell, the tub was _big_, and it had these massage jets that they somehow managed to get just _right _against her clit while he fucked her and just - - Beth clenches her thighs together, because now is _really _not the time).

The hot water laps over her legs, belly, breasts, the bubbles parting around her, and Beth wriggles down until she’s comfortable, flicking off the water and resting her head on the back of the tub. Letting her eyes slip shut, she tries to push all thoughts of Dean out of her head, which would be easier if she didn’t _feel _Rio wanting to say something from their bedroom, or - -

Not their bedroom, Beth realises, opening her eyes, spotting him propped against the en suite doorframe, leaning sideways, watching her, or rather, watching her breasts bob above the water. She looks at him, squints, before moving the bubbles to better cover herself, because she’d rather not be totally exposed when he inevitably starts his lecture.

“You gotta lay down new rules, mami,” he says, like he knew she knew, and Beth rolls her eyes, (badly) suppressing a groan. Rio powers through regardless, waving an arm out at her. “Because, see, you ain’t enforcin’ the old ones, so he’s just gonna keep doin’ whatever the fuck he wants, and those kids of yours are gonna be feelin’ the effect of that.”

“Thought you _ain’t sayin’ nothin’_,” Beth says, imitating his voice, and Rio exhales sharply, squinting down at her in that irritated way that he does whenever she imitates him.

“I ain’t,” he says, gritting his teeth, and Beth arches an eyebrow up at him. “But that dumbass ex o’ yours - - ”

“Is getting married,” Beth replies, refocusing her gaze on the ceiling, and at least that’s enough to make Rio be quiet. It was a dirty trick, and she thinks they both know it, but still - - she just didn’t have it in her for Rio to tell her what she already knew, to have to justify (_again_) her inaction when it came to Dean.

Rio sighs above her, and she can feel him trying to catch her gaze, but she keeps it fixed steadily on the ceiling, briefly wishing for cracks or cobwebs or anything beyond the pristine surface there to distract herself, only _something _must distract her, because she doesn’t realise Rio’s undressed or even moved at all until he’s nudging her forwards and slipping into the bath behind her. He pulls her gently back against his chest.

“You’re surprised,” she tells him softly, letting her head loll back onto Rio’s shoulder, her eyes slip shut, feeling his hands stroke down her arms, one coming back up to cup her breast.

“Surprised he managed to trick another woman into gettin’ saddled with his ass, sure,” he replies easily, and Beth huffs out a laugh, beyond the point of being offended by anything Rio says about her and Dean’s marriage.

“You wanna beat him down the aisle?”

And just - - what?

Beth’s eyes snap back open, and she spins a little in the water to look at him, and it’s unfair, the mirth in his eyes, but also the - - _something_. She can’t quite read it, god, still can’t quite ever know him fluently, so she just squints at him. 

“If that was a proposal, it was really lacking,” she tells him dryly, and Rio just laughs, leaning in to kiss her, before spinning her back around, pulling her back against his chest. One of his hands squeezes firmly at her breast while the other sinks lower, slipping between her folds so quickly, so easily, it’s enough to make her breath hitch.

“Better up my game then,” he hums against her ear, and Beth rolls her eyes, squirming back against him when his practiced fingers find her clit, circling, and Beth’s leg flails briefly out of the water, enough to make Rio laugh, roughening his touch on her, and god, it’s almost embarrassing, she thinks, heat bursting between her legs, her back arching against his chest, even as his fingers roughly twist her nipple, how quickly he can show her the edge and push her over it.

She gasps, tumbling over her orgasm, struggling to catch her breath, and it takes her a minute to finally flail a hand back and slap him half-heartedly in the face.

“Rude,” she tells him, and Rio just laughs again, hand promptly moving back to her clit, and she has to grab him by the wrist because she _could _go again (god, could she), but that’s not what this is. She sits back, feeling him half-hard behind her, and - - _later_, she thinks, sitting back just enough he can grind a little against her if he wants, but not enough to necessarily invite it. Not that he seems to ever really take anything she does as _not _an invitation.

“These last few months have been really messy,” she says instead, before she can let the lust wriggle back into her brain, and it’s enough to stop him shifting closer behind her. He sighs, slipping his wrist out of her grip, turning up his hand, entwining their fingers instead. “I never even asked if you were okay with it. With my kids staying here more, I mean.”

Rio doesn’t reply to that, and Beth’s not entirely sure she was expecting him to. Still, it makes her frown, makes her forehead furrow even as she disentangles their hands, pushing his to rest just on top of the water surface, her fingers tracing patterns into his broad palm.

“That you askin’?” his voice is laden with amusement, and Beth huffs, but feels her toes curl a little against the porcelain of the tub beneath her, because they’ve been together for years now, and this bit - - she’s still - -

“’Course,” he tells her, cutting off her thoughts like he knew she was about to get too into them. “Love the noise, love the kids, you know that. What I don’t like is that dumbass ex of yours actin’ like he’s doin’ us a favour every time he gets his mom to pick ‘em up and drive ‘em down to Lake Shithole for him, and what I especially don’t like is watchin’ you have to turn around when he dumps ‘em here early _again_, after not even botherin’ to tell us that he was gonna be introducin’ ‘em to the flavour of the month.”

“Forever flavour now,” Beth says, tapping at his pulse point, and Rio shifts behind her.

“Yeah? Somethin’ tells me forever don’t keep its flavour long in his mouth.” 

And well, isn’t that the truth. Beth bites the inside of her cheek, smoothing her hand over his, until they fit almost neatly together, or not neatly, Beth thinks. His is big beneath hers, dark and steady and so familiar now Beth can feel it on every inch of her.

“I’ll talk to him,” she tells his hand, and Rio promptly entwines their fingers again.

“Want to take Demon to scare the shit outta him?”

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of Beth, suddenly struck with the memory of Dean at Emma’s birthday party last year, watching Demon with all his tattoos and piercings and thug energy give Emma piggy back rides across the yard, careful not to mess up the sparkly white tulle of her Cinderella dress. 

“No, it’s okay, I’ll call him tomorrow,” she says, and then sits up a little straighter, the thought of tomorrow sparking the reminder. “Oh! Before I forget, Kenny was wondering if you’d be up for tennis tomorrow.”

Rio just hums easily in affirmation.

“Already booked us, ma. Figured the kid mighta needed it.”

And it just hits her – so suddenly, so hard in the chest, just like it did all those years ago, Kenny yawning at her chest. The overwhelming feeling of love only - - more than love, she thinks, because she knew she loved Rio, only this, it’s - - a new sort of _wholeness_, of _completeness_, and it strikes her suddenly, how little she’d felt at the thought of Dean getting married.

How much she feels here, like this, talking about her son’s tennis lessons, with him.

Beth’s fingers are tightening on his before she can help it, her breaths suddenly feeling heavy, and she just - - she doesn’t know how to get him any closer.

Doesn’t know how she can ever let him away from her.

“How’d I do any of this without you?” she asks him, before she can overthink it, and Rio presses his lips to the skin where her jaw hinges.

“Same way you done everythin’ else,” he tells her easily. “You woulda gotten it done. Just with not as much style.”

Beth just laughs thickly at that, everything in her softening, and she sinks her free hand behind her in the water, running up his thigh. She thinks of saying it – that she thinks maybe she would’ve – _could’ve _– done all of this without him – the new house, leaving Dean, the new life, just - - she’s not sure if she’d have their messy history any other way, not sure if she can even stomach the thought of any sort of future without him anymore. That she likes him beside her (even when he’s technically behind her), likes all the ways he reminds her that they’re partners without even meaning to, just - - likes _him_.

She slides her hand up, just enough to brush his cock with the tips of her fingers, when suddenly she finds herself practically propelled out of the water, pulled up out of it so rapidly that she flails forwards and he has to grab her to stop her from keeling over, spinning her around and lifting her out of the tub.

“Nup,” he says. “Remember last time? Rather fuck you properly, mami.”

And okay, last time _had _been a total disaster, but that was only because she’d managed to simultaneously overflow the tub _and_ basically give them third degree burns by accidentally flipping on the tap mid-thrust. It was the geranium bubble bath. She was convinced of it. It made them both insane.

“We _are_ getting old,” she allows. “Remember how you complained about your knees for a week.”

“Rather feel my knees than hear you bitch about your neck,” he tells her, walking them out of the en suite and depositing her gracelessly onto the bed, and god, the sheets are going to be _so wet_, but then again, she thinks with a grin as Rio grabs her by the thighs and pushes them up around her ears, so is she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from TLC's _Chasing Waterfalls_


	16. Give You All I've Got to Give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Could you do one where Beth is shopping buying clothes for the kids and Rio?

Beth’s still pinning up the hem of Emma’s old dress on Jane when Rio steps in through the front door, Marcus’s travel bag slung over one shoulder, and Marcus himself over the other, red cheeked and giggling.

“Hi, honey,” Beth calls out behind her, struggling to keep hold of both her handful of pins and Jane, who’s suddenly squirming with excitement at Marcus’ arrival. “How was your mom’s?”

“It was good, Miss Elizabeth! She said to say thank you for the brownies. We ate them all in five seconds.”

“Five seconds? Damn, no wonder you gettin’ heavy,” Rio says, slinging Marcus off his shoulder and dropping him bodily to the couch. They’ve been out for most of the day, although Beth’s not entirely sure what the plan was beyond the pick-up, lunch to catch-up on the fortnight Marcus has been at Laura’s, then a trip to the batting cages. Beth generally tries not to pry – she likes the fact that Rio treats the days he picks Marcus up from Laura’s as sacred, a time just for them. Likes how seriously he takes his time with him (although Rio does complain it’s more for him these days, with the way Marcus barely says hi before barraging Rio with questions about Jane.

“Half the shit he only tells me coz he’s tellin’ me how hyped he is to tell her,” Rio had said last night, loading the dishwasher while Beth wiped down the kitchen bench. “Askin’ me what I think she’s gonna say. Like he’s testin’ the stories out on me for the real audience.”

“It’s cute,” Beth had cooed in reply, and Rio had levelled her with an unamused stare.

“It’s annoyin’.”)

“Do me!” Jane demands now, watching as Marcus rolls off the couch, straight into one of the piles of clothes on the floor, still giggling. She thrusts her arms up in the air towards Rio, bouncing on her toes, and Beth sighs, gesturing for her to put them back down.

“Let me finish this first, sweetie.”

“Nooo, I want to play rocket lady!”

“Listen to your mama, Jane,” Rio replies easily, and Jane pouts dramatically, watching as Marcus tumbles off the pile of clothes, and practically skips over to Beth and Jane.

“Can we please play, Miss Elizabeth?” Marcus says, adopting his most angelic voice, and Beth internally rolls her eyes, knows that voice well enough these days to know it’s a _lie_.

“In a minute, okay?” she replies, finishing the last couple of pins on the hem, and gestures for Jane to hold her hands up again, tugging it off over her head. She reaches back to grab the one she was wearing before only to have Jane leap off the coffee table and tear down the hall in her underwear, Marcus giggling on her heels the whole while.

With a groan, Beth sags forwards, folding Jane’s old dress and dropping it back to the floor before grabbing the new, pinned one, and making quick work of making sure the hem is even.

“Everything go okay today?” she asks behind her, and Rio makes a noise of affirmation, before saying, “Want me to get rid of these, mama?”

Twisting on the spot, Beth glances back at where Rio gently kicks at the lined-up row of battered children’s shoes by the door, before dropping Marcus’ bag and starting to reach down to gather up the shoes. Beth frantically shakes her head, waving an arm out at him.

“No, leave them. I’m taking them to the mall to get them re-soled.”

It earns her a disbelieving look from Rio, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead, his mouth open, before he looks back down at the shoes.

“Yeah, these ain’t worth savin’.”

As if to punctuate his point, he grabs a particularly ratty one, letting its sole hang down like a heavy lower lip. He waves it at her.

“It kind of looks like a puppet when you hold it like that,” Beth says, bemused, as she climbs to her feet.

“Kinda looks like trash too.”

“Everything that doesn’t cost a vital organ looks like trash to you,” Beth counters. “You know thrifting is very trendy these days. There are like, these groups on Facebook and everything. It’s very social and it’s like this rejection of fast fashion. You know clothes are becoming one of the biggest waste contributions to landfills?”

Rio’s eyebrow pops up at that, and she knows he’s about to make a joke about her contribution to clothes in landfill – namely the bodies _wearing _those clothes, before he even makes it.

“Don’t say it,” she tells him, and Rio sucks in his lips, but complies.

“That what you doin’?” he says instead. “Thriftin’?”

“Well, no,” she admits. “These are hand-me-downs. But it’s still keeping it out of landfill.”

She points over to the two piles in the furthest corner by the window.

“Annie and Ruby brought those over the other day. That’s Sara’s and that’s Ben's,” she points to the next pile down the line. “Ben's stuff goes to Kenny,” then the next pile, “Who’s things go to Danny, who goes to Marcus, who’s things I’ll bundle up for Harry – he really hasn’t hit his growth spurt like Marcus has yet – and your sister’s boys, and anything that they’ve _all_ outgrown can go to Ben's brother, Dakota. The girls are a bit easier,” she adds, pointing. “Sara, Emma, Jane.”

By the time she looks back at Rio, he’s just staring at her, a look on his face somewhere between amused and a little horrified, and - - figures, she thinks, rolling her eyes. She’s had to stop Rio throwing out too many shirts since they moved in together – after all, a little bit of blood isn’t _that _hard to get out. Still, Rio strides over to the pile of clothes beside the couch, crouching down to pull up one of Jane’s old t-shirts from the top of the pile and promptly shoving his hand through the frayed hole separating the collar of it from the rest of it.

“And this?”

Beth just shrugs. 

“I wash them and I shred them, and then they’re perfect for stuffing cushions and teddy bears for Christmas. There’s a lot of it this year, so hope your boys are ready for some throw pillows from the boss.”

It’s enough to make Rio laugh, even if his face is twisted into a bit of a cringe, his eyes drifting back to the pile she’s made of Ben, Kenny and Danny’s old things for Marcus. He rocks his jaw in a way that Beth briefly thinks is unhappy, but she puts the thought out of her head.

It’s just stress, she thinks. After all, the school holidays are over in just two weeks, and this year, it feels _big_, with all the kids starting at Glenvale Elementary. They all seem to be excited at least – Marcus and Jane in particular at the prospect of being in the same class since they’d basically become joined at the hip over the summer break. No, although they haven’t really talked about it, she knows that all anxiety over the shift are hers and Rio’s. She just worries they’ve made the wrong choice, even though Glenvale had felt so _right_, and she thinks maybe Rio feels it too.

It’s why it had felt so good to latch onto this tradition. The annual wardrobe cleanout. She’d started it back when she was in school – back after their dad had left and their mom was ill, and she’d needed to make sure she and Annie would have enough clothes that fit for the year, enough in their wardrobes that it wouldn’t raise red flags with teachers or leave them on the backfoot – needed to make sure they had clothes for gym and swim and picture day, and whatever they didn’t have she’d make or borrow or Ruby would help her wrangle from whatever family pass downs she could.

And it had just made sense to keep doing it with her own kids, particularly when Dean had first gotten Boland Motors into trouble. When they’d had to tighten the purse strings the first time. Beth frowns, swallows thickly, the memory coming too quickly of being pregnant with Danny and frantically worrying about just how they were going to pay for their next appointment at the sonographer. 

“Kinda figured you the type of mama who thinks clothes are the kids’ _creative expression_ or somethin’.”

The words cut through Beth’s thoughts, her memories, and she blinks up to see Rio looking back at her, and any needling in his voice seems to soften when he sees something on her face, and - - right, Beth thinks. She paints on the best smile she can manage, jokingly rolling her eyes.

“Sure. For Halloween or fancy dress, but their day-to-day clothes should be practical. Functional. I mean, they’re children! I really don’t get this whole thing about _fashion _for kids.”

Rio just laughs at that, folding Jane’s torn shirt and dropping it back on the pile.

“Don’t worry, baby, no one would mistake you for someone who believed in any type o’ fashion.”

And Beth blinks at that, her mouth ajar. Before she can help herself, she glances down at her grey leggings and her loose floral smock top, and okay, maybe it’s not the picture of fashion, but she’s at _home_. She bites the inside of her cheek, looking away from him, suddenly annoyed.

“You’re not exactly runway ready yourself,” she bites back, spinning around on the spot. She marches over to Danny’s pile, grabbing one of Kenny’s old shirts, and checks it over. She thinks this one is missing a button, and she’s sure she has one that matches in her spare button jar. 

“No? Damn, and here I thought you liked how I dressed.”

The heat finds her cheeks too quickly, and Beth focuses harder on the shirt, running her fingers down the starched fabric.

“It’d be nice if you wore a colour that didn’t make you look like you’d walked out of _The Vampire Diaries_,” she sniffs, and Rio laughs, because he must get her intent, even though she knows he doesn’t have a clue what that show is (she watched it pretty religiously while she was pregnant with Emma). She fidgets a little on the spot, glances up at him, but he’s crouching down, seemingly re-sorting her piles of clothes, starting with the one for Marcus, and before she can help herself, she asks:

“You really don’t like my clothes?”

“Like gettin’ you out of ‘em,” he replies easily, pulling a face at a checked shirt of Danny’s Beth always liked. When she doesn’t reply, he glances over at her, clocking her expression, and he just sighs. “I don’t care what you wear, you know that, mami.”

She nods, because she _does _know that, just - -

She shakes her head, tossing Danny’s shirt over her shoulder, and wandering over to the pile from Sara. Most of it she thinks is still a couple of years away from fitting Emma, but she pulls one off the top anyway, shaking it out, and it really is sweet, but - - no. Still another year away at least – Emma really doesn’t have Sara’s height. She folds it up again to put back into the box for next year.

And the thing is, she expects Rio just to leave. To go chase after Marcus, get him upstairs and unpacked like he usually would, only Rio doesn’t. He stays, making careful work of going through first Marcus’ piles, and then the rest of them, refolding them, seeing the adjustments that Beth has already made, the mark-ups and pins, the notes she’s made on post-its about buttons and tailoring, and Beth’s just - - she’s not really sure what to make of that at all.

*

“I give Marcus a budget.”

The words are sudden, stark through the post-dinner-post-kids-to-bed fog of Beth’s head, and she blinks over at where Rio has suddenly materialised in the doorway between their en suite and bedroom, his naked torso shimmering with the remnants of his shower, white towel low on his waist, steam billowing out behind him, and it just - - well. Beth flushes before she can help herself, pulling a set of clean pyjamas for herself out of the bottom drawer of their tallboy.

“You give a seven-year-old a budget?” she asks, latching onto the point more than anything, amusement heavy in her tone, and Rio makes a noise of affirmation, striding over to stand beside her and unfolding the knot on his towel.

“Two-fifty,” Rio says, slinging the towel over his shoulder and grabbing clean underwear from one of the top drawers. “Start of the school year. Tell him it’s gotta go across all o’ it – pyjamas, bathin’ suit, socks, jocks, clothes for school. Let him pick what he wants. Think it helps him know what money means, what it’s worth, how he’s gotta spend it, that he can’t get everythin’ he wants. All that shit.”

It’s enough to make Beth reel back a bit, to stare at Rio, naked beside her as he shakes out a pair of grey boxer briefs. He’s casual as he talks about it – easy in that way he can manage, but there’s something a little different underneath it too. Something that, if she didn’t know any better, she’d almost say was _cautious_, but Beth has no idea what to do with _that_.

“Seven,” she reiterates instead, and Rio turns suddenly to face her, stepping into his underwear, and she has to look away because - - god, the sight of him naked still makes her blush.

“Never too early to start learnin’ about money.”

He says it like it’s easy, like it’s that simple, like he’s not talking about a _child_, and before she can help herself, Beth is laughing, stepping away from their tallboy, away from him. She shoves her pyjamas beneath her arm and grabs a hair tie off her bedside table, tossing her hair up, just starting to make tracks to shower herself. 

“Please,” she says rolling her eyes, but before she can add anything to it, Rio interrupts.

“I’m thinkin’ we go to the mall when you takin’ in the shoes, we give all the kids the same rules. They get two-fifty each and a list o’ what they gotta get and we let them decide. You still got your hand-me-downs, still keepin’ shit outta landfill, but they got a few things they picked for themselves too.”

And just - - _what_? Beth blinks back at him, her forehead furrowing, and she’s laughing before she can help herself, her voice heavy with disbelief.

“Rio, they’re _children_, what are they going to do with $250? Probably buy like, a game thing or a Spiderman costume.”

It’s sudden then, the sharpness of his exhale, him lurching, half naked towards his side of the bed. He tosses back the sheets, rocks his jaw, and it’s strange because she _feels _it – the fact that she might’ve done something to really offend him, when he suddenly just laughs, eyes darting up to her, something acidic in his gaze.

“Don’t you wish you’d learnt anythin’ about handlin’ money before you had to rob a grocery store?”

It hits like a poison dart – the words themselves sharp, but the deeper they settle in her, the worse they feel, and Beth’s reeling backwards, her eyes unblinking, her lips parted.

“Excuse me?”

And she knows he regrets it, can hear it in the change in his breath and the way he looks away from her, the way he sucks in his lips, but she can also tell that he _meant _it, and that only pushes the words deeper.

“Come on, mami,” he says, tone quietening, like this is meant to soften the blow. “You know it ain’t the area you smartest in.”

“Says the guy who wants to spend more than $1,200 at the mall this weekend on clothes they’re going to - - to grow out of or ruin or - - ”

“Nuh, it’s about teachin’ em about money, and lettin’ ‘em pick who they wanna be. What they wanna project out in the world instead o’ - - shit - - bein’ Jane and walkin’ around in clothes her cousin picked out ten years ago. Clothes that all her fuckin’ siblings have worn before her.”

And she just - - _stares _at him, stares at his broad shoulders and his sharp features and his young, one child, perfect family _face_ and suddenly feels breathless with anger. She scrambles to pick her pyjamas off the floor – hadn’t even realised she’d dropped them – before waving a hand at him across the bed.

“How dare you,” she hisses. “You can play at authority in a lot of areas, but not in this. I’ve been raising children a _lot _longer than you have and you can’t just waltz in here and - - ” 

“Oh, okay,” Rio interjects, laughing, but it’s not amused, the sound tight in his throat. “So you can decide _my_ kid’s gonna spend the school year in your kids’ hand-me-downs, but I don’t get to even suggest nothin’ for _yours_? Okay.”

But that’s not - - Beth’s shaking her head, still furious, but also - -

“No,” she says. “That’s not what I - - “

But Rio just yanks back the sheets harder, his face set firm in anger.

“Yeah, no, I heard you, baby. Don’t worry. Loud and clear.”

Beth exhales, chest suddenly raw, watching as Rio clambers heavily into bed, then immediately gets out of it again, bristling with energy. He strides back over to their tallboy, yanks open a drawer, like he’s going to get changed, when he suddenly thinks better of it. He slams it shut, says:

“Elizabeth, I’m a fuckin’ good fa– ”

At the same time that she says:

“I’m not bad with money, I just - - ” 

They both stop, staring at each other across the bedroom, and it’s Rio who breaks the quiet.

“Just what?” he asks her, and Beth meets his gaze, and she wants to say it. Wants to tell him.

_I just never had any of my own before now_.

But just - - god. Her chest flushes with shame, and it’s too pathetic, she thinks, to even think it opposite him like this. This guy. This _man_. Who had to be talked into a budget for the house they bought together, who can drop thousands of dollars on paintings with a flick of his hand, and even more on business investments and now apparently gives a small child a cheque to shop with and just - -

Beth’s still learning how to buy the premium brand of washing powder without feeling guilty at the grocery store. 

“I’m going to have a shower,” she says, looking away from him. She hears him exhale, something between pissed off and resigned, and she adds, “Don’t wait up,” before she closes the en suite door behind her.

She strips quickly, flicking the shower on, and leaving it a second, maybe two, before pushing herself beneath the stream of water and letting it engulf her. She’s being unfair, her head tells her, and Beth grabs her bodywash, squirting a generous helping into her hand. He could never understand, her heart tells her, and Beth reaches for the bath lily, rubbing it into the body wash and furiously massaging it into her body.

It’s not like he’s wrong exactly. She knows the kids don’t love the hand-me-downs, just like she knows that they’re _different_ – that Jane hates Emma’s frilly dresses, and how much Danny’s colouring differs from Kenny’s, but they have their entire lives to explore that, and right now it’s having enough to wear that keeps you warm and safe and happy and - - sure, okay. It’s not like Beth can’t afford clothes for them _now_, but maybe - - maybe it’s surprised her.

The way Rio had had an opinion on this.

Dean had always let her raise the kids how she wanted, had never argued with it, because she was the one with both the experience (Annie) and the means (the uterus and the patience), but that doesn’t mean that Rio was ever going to do that – in fact, it would be weirder if he _did_ just let her carry on as normal, because he was right. He is a good father, she knows that, she loves that, and she just - -

She shifts beneath the stream of water, closes her eyes, lifts her chin.

She tries to clear her winding mind.

*

She hasn’t slept.

Not at all, she doesn’t think, although maybe she has. She thinks maybe getting out of the shower hours ago to Rio asleep in their bed had given her enough spite to furiously fall asleep herself. Burning with the desire to be able to give him a clear faced, refreshed, lock-jawed grin in the morning, only it hadn’t worked out that way. She thinks she’s maybe had an hour’s sleep at most.

She rolls over again, huffs a little into the pillow, and she feels him shift too beside her, and just - - before she can help herself, she says:

“Maybe a hundred, not two-fifty.”

The words hang heavy in the night, and right - - he’s _asleep_, Beth thinks, but still. She feels a weight off her chest at the potential to compromise, to get this thing working for them, and - -

“Two hundred.”

The voice is gravelly, hoarse, but she recognises it too well – the lack of sleep in it, and has he been _faking _being asleep? She blinks over at him, but he doesn’t roll over to meet her, so she quickly rolls away again too, biting her cheek, facing the far wall of their bedroom.

“One-fifty,” she counters with, and before he can say anything else, she adds: “I’m not - - that’s it, okay? Final offer.”

He grunts at that, the bed shifting beneath them, and she knows he’s turned around to face her, can feel the heat of his gaze on her, can _always _feel that, but she refuses to turn around, refuses to give him anything but her back right now, because she’s not sure what she’ll feel if she looks at him, but it’s relief that uncurls in her chest when he agrees.

*

“We really don’t like to re-sole a shoe more than twice, Ms. Boland. Maybe three times if it’s a good quality shoe, but these are - -”

The cobbler rolls out his hand, and Beth flushes, pushing her handbag strap up her arm, trying to ignore the bustle of the mall behind her. Trying to focus instead on the multitude of children’s shoes she’s laid out on the counter between them, finding herself unreasonably glad that Rio had agreed to take the kids to the first stores of the day while she did this.

“Right, okay,” she says, grabbing a particularly battered pair from him, and looking out over the rest. “Are there any you can do?”

He agrees to four or five pairs at least, enough that she can justify the trip, and she offers a quick thanks, pushing the rest back down into the tote bag she’d brought them in and shuffling out of the repairs store, back out into the belly of the mall. She checks her phone for any messages, but there’s only one from Ruby, asking about coffee in the morning, which Beth replies to, before checking the time.

It’s barely past 11, and her and Rio had agreed to meet up in the food court at noon unless she found them earlier, but screw it, she thinks petulantly, lugging the bag of children’s shoes over her shoulder. Let him struggle with the kids and their _budgets_ a little longer.

She finds herself wandering in and out of a few different stores instead, earmarking things in her head for Christmas – a new kettle and toaster set for Annie in a bright metallic blue, Egyptian Cotton bed sheets for Ruby and Stan, even finds a table cloth set which really would look lovely with Rio’s mom’s flatware, and she’s making a list on her phone when she wanders past a store entrance and stops.

On the table out front is a row of folded sweaters – all rich, midnight blues and slate greys and heavy blacks, with a subtle V-neckline, and on their own, they’re nice, but they’re not on their own. Beside them are matching ones in children’s sizes, and she can’t help it. How quickly she imagines Rio and Marcus in them. Imagines them together – Marcus sitting on the step below his father like in the photograph she knows is Rio’s favourite, sees Marcus slung over Rio’s shoulder, sees Marcus asleep against Rio’s side in the backseat of her minivan, sees the photo already that she’d keep on her phone, just - - sees _them_.

She blinks, mouth dry, looking back down at the display. The slate grey would be the one he’d get, she knows that already, but she finds her hands drifting to a softer colour, something a little cooler – a grey-teal that would look so sweet on Marcus, and handsome on Rio, and just - -

Is this even something they do? Buy clothes for each other?

What if she buys it and he doesn’t like it? What if he makes it a joke – her buying clothes after being so insistent on hand-me-downs? What if - -

She bites the inside of her cheek, dropping her hand awkwardly. She can see a sales assistant inside the store clock her, start to make their way over, and it’s enough for Beth to wave a hand out at her, dismissing her, but when that doesn’t work, she quickly steps back out into the mall, away from it. 

It’s almost noon anyway.

*

The plastic bag crinkles loudly as Emma pulls out the dress in the middle of the food court, her eyes big as she shows it off – and it really is beautiful. A soft cream tulle speckled with gold sequins, the Zara label hanging off the back of it. Pressing it to herself, Emma gives the biggest twirl she can manage, almost taking out a poor kid at the next table in the process, and Beth laughs, shooting the other family an apologetic look before beckoning Emma closer to the table.

“Careful, sweetie.”

Giggling, Emma nods, giving Beth the dress before rummaging in another bag for a shoebox.

“And I got boots just like you too, mommy!”

With that, she yanks out a tiny pair of black ankle boots with a low heel and a bow. They really are sweet too, Beth thinks, slipping on a look of dutiful awe as Emma preens, delighted whether at her purchase of Beth’s approval, it’s hard to say. 

“They’re beautiful,” Beth enthuses, glancing sideways at Rio who’s mostly distracted trying to get ketchup off Jane’s forehead and god, how’d she even get it _there_? “Did you get a new bathing suit too?”

_Like you actually needed_, Beth thinks, and Emma shakes her head.

“Not yet, but I’ve still got - - hmm,” Emma frowns, putting the shoes back in the box and pushing them into her bag. She slides back onto the bench and grabs her notebook out of her fluffy Barbie handbag, flipping to a marked page. She frowns, before looking over at Rio. “Mr. Rio, can you help?”

And it’s almost too easy, the way Rio drags Jane into his lap to keep mopping her up as he slides them both across the bench to sit beside Emma. He looks over her shoulder, down at her notebook.

“Right, see so that dress was $36 and those boots were $40, so - - what’s six plus zero?”

“Six!” Emma says easily, smiling, and Rio nods, gaze dropping down to Jane’s hands, he gestures at Beth for a fresh wet wipe, which she pulls from the packet in her purse, passing it over.

“That’s good. And what’s three plus four?”

“Seven!”

“Right again, darlin’. So that means you’ve spent $76, which is almost exactly half your budget,” he tells her, wiping Jane’s hands as she wriggles back against his chest. “Now you got that other half to get your swimsuit and some pyjamas and some socks. Think we can swing it?”

“Yup!” Emma says happily, and Rio grins down at her.

“Me too.”

The bustle of the food court feels dense around them, a cacophony of sound, the overwhelming smell of burgers, hot dogs, tacos filling her nose. And it’s strange, how unaffected Rio seems by it, because he makes no secret of hating this sort of thing when it’s just the two of them, but with the kids here, it’s different. _He’s _different, and Beth knew that, knew he became the picture of patience with them, but - - she bites the inside of her cheek, glancing down, which was the wrong choice, because suddenly all she can see is all the bags of _stuff _around them – the sneakers that Kenny’s bought and the three animal onesies that Jane’s bought (and at least those _are _pyjamas). Before she can help herself, she exhales sharply, a strange feeling unfurling in her chest at the prospect, her fingers clenching, only they’re clenching in this sparkling dress of Emma’s and Beth makes a noise in the back of her throat. The sound is enough to make Rio glance over at her, his eyes flicking across her face, before he scoots away from Emma, dropping Jane into the space between them.

“Why don’t you guys figure out what’s takin’ the boys so long,” he says, gesturing with a flick of his chin over to the ice cream stand where Kenny and Marcus are still deciding on flavours. The girls hum happily, sliding off the bench and darting across the food court towards them. Rio turns better towards her, opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Beth’s interrupting.

“When on earth is she going to wear this?” she asks, shaking out the dress before folding it again and slipping it back into the bag, and Rio just looks at her, jaw rocking briefly, before he says:

“Whenever she wants. It’s her budget. We talked it out. She knows it means she can’t get nothin’ else fancy. The rest of its gonna be basics.”

Shaking her head, Beth lurches up off the bench, starting to pack up the mess from the burgers they’d had for lunch.

“It’s a waste of money.”

“Not to her.”

He offers it simply, calmly, and Beth hates the way her hands clench around the burger wrappers, the way her chest seizes, her stomach flutters, and she just - - looks at him across the table. Looks at where he stares right back at her, his eyes open, blinking almost lazily, and he doesn’t even look defensive, or annoyed, just - -

She doesn’t really know what he’s looking like.

Suddenly though he looks away, and Beth’s glad for it. Feels almost _released _from it, only the feeling doesn’t last long, not when he looks beneath the table at their piles of bags and sees the tote full of shoes.

“Thought you were takin’ those to get fixed?” he says, and Beth blinks back at him, mouth open for a second, feeling the heat rise up her chest, before she puts on a self-deprecating laughs, waves one hand at him while she refocuses on packing up lunch.

“Oh! Yeah, I got distracted, haven’t taken them yet.”

“Distracted by what?”

Beth just gestures vaguely around before grabbing the napkin full of Danny’s uneaten pickles (he really does hate them) and bundling that up for the bin too.

“We’re in a mall. There’s a lot to be distracted by.”

With that, she walks all the rubbish over to the bin, shoving it through the flap, briefly glad for the reprieve of that too. She glances up over the fray of the crowd getting lunch, out to where the kids are finally starting to settle on flavours under Emma’s bossy instruction, the line lengthening behind them, and she really should go over, should round them up, but - -

She looks back at where Rio’s starting to get the bags together again, watches him peer into the tote, looking at the shoes, and she’s striding back before she can help herself, weirdly tense at the thought of him realising some of them aren’t there, like he’d find out that way that the cobbler couldn’t even mend them. She snatches the bag out of his grip, and Rio stares at her, eyebrows high on his forehead before they furrow.

“We still fightin’?”

And just - -

_What?_

She blinks hard at him.

“What?”

“We still fightin’? Or what are we doin’?” he asks, waving a hand out at her, voice low and hoarse. “Kinda figured we were good last night, compromisin’ and what not, but you actin’ all sore.”

“I’m not acting _sore_.”

Rio grunts, rocks his jaw, looking back at where the kids are starting back towards them, ice cream cones in hand, and god, Jane’s is already dripping down her fingers, and then she thinks of Rio, minutes ago, patiently cleaning her up without complaint, Jane not fighting it like she _always _does with Beth, and Beth just - -

How does this get to be easy for him too? 

“C’mon,” he says beside her, and Beth blinks, jerked from her thoughts.

“No, I’ve got to - - ”

“We can take the shoes at the end,” he tells her, tilting his head over to the children. “Shop with your kids, Elizabeth.”

Beth closes her mouth and nods.

*

Danny’s forehead furrows, glancing between the three pyjama sets Beth’s holding up for him, tapping his chin.

“I really want the Minecraft ones,” he decides, and Beth exhales in relief, tossing them easily over her shoulder.

“Okay,” she says, readjusting her grip on the other two sets, holding them down so that they’re practically eye level with him. “Then you’ve got to pick between the Star Wars ones and the Pikachu ones. That’s all the money you’ve got left.”

Nodding, Danny’s little face scrunches up in seriousness, the weight of the consideration heavy there, and if Beth were any less exhausted, it really would be pretty cute.

“Star Wars,” he decides. “Mr Rio said they’ve gotta last the _whole _year, and Kenny says Pikachu’s only for babies.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Beth replies, making a mental note to talk to Kenny later. “I think Pikachu can be for anybody.”

But Danny’s made up his mind, so Beth throws the Finn pyjamas over her shoulder with the Minecraft ones and hooks the Pikachu ones back on the rack.

“I wish I had more money,” Danny says with a pout, eyeing off the bright yellow pyjamas on the rack, and Beth hums, double checking the price tags on the two sets Danny’s picked, making sure it really will fit into his budget.

“Well, you can always save up your allowance and get them.”

“Mr Rio said if I do more chores I’ll get more money too,” Danny says happily. “And then I can buy everything I want.”

The thought sits strangely in Beth’s ears, almost like an insect, legs sticking out at angles, and it takes her a moment to process it, to look back down at Danny’s freckled face and frown.

“Not everything can be bought, honey,” she says, and Danny shrugs, only half paying attention, eyes already on the lookout for his siblings, and Beth’s feels irritation spark in her belly. “Danny!”

He does look up at her then, eyes wide at the sharpness in her tone, and it’s enough to make her instantly regret it. She tries for a smile, tries to smooth out her features, to soften her look.

“You’re very lucky, to be able to do this,” she tries. “Me and your father have always worked very hard, and we couldn’t always afford to give you this, and there might be times in your life again where we can’t. Sometimes hard work gives you money, yes, but sometimes it pays you in other ways – like with experience and - - ”

She fumbles briefly for the words, and Danny just stares up at her, looking chastised, and god, this isn’t what she wanted. She closes her eyes briefly.

“Money isn’t everything, that’s all I’m saying,” she says after a second, and Danny frowns softly up at her.

“I know, mom. And I like some of the hand-me-downs too. Like Ben's brown coat!”

And she almost hates it, the relief that the words give her, the way they settle warm in her chest like a gift. Her smile loosens up, becomes something real, something easy. She loosens her grip on Danny’s pyjamas and, god, she hadn’t realised she was holding onto them that tight.

“That one is pretty cool, huh?”

Danny hums in agreement.

“Even Marcus thinks it’s cool. I told him he can have it after me.”

Beth’s smile widens even more at that, her heart lightening as she glances over at where Marcus is chattering to Jane in the aisle, comparing their bags of clothes, and Beth bites her lip, looking over at where Rio’s on his cell, talking to somebody in code, bags of kids clothes slung over his shoulder, and just - - she bites her lip harder. Passing the pyjamas to Danny, she says:

“Want to go show these to Emma and Kenny?”

Danny hums happily, trotting off down the aisle towards his brother and sister, and Beth sucks in a breath, looking over at Rio, who’s just finished his call, and right, she thinks, collecting herself, hand tightening on the straps of her handbag and her tote. She wanders over to him, something like an apology sweetening on her tongue when she hears a rip, feels a weight release, and before she can stop it, the strap on the tote has snapped.

Torn shoes spill out across the store floor, almost in slow motion, and she quickly drops low, scrambling to pick them up, shoving them back into the tote. It feels like everyone’s looking at her, even though she’s sure they’re not, mortification flushing across her chest, and god, she didn’t even want to _be here_, she just wanted to go to the shoe repair place and then she wanted to go home and spend the weekend at her sewing machine, and - -

And suddenly Rio’s big, steady hands are there too, making quick work of picking up the rest of the shoes, and Beth’s snatching them from his grip before he can give them to her, shoving them into the bag, her chest flushed, and she can just _feel _him looking at her, and she _hates _it.

“Guess you won, huh?” she hisses at him before she can stop herself. “Congratulations. That’s what you wanted, right? God forbid everything don’t work out _exactly _how you want it.”

Thing is, Rio _does _look briefly smug at that, like he can’t quite help himself either, having taken no offense apparently at her snatching the shoes away from him, and that just serves to fan the flames of her embarrassment which stokes the embers of her fury, and she’s just talking before she can stop herself, a rambling mess as she keeps pushing wrecked shoes into her broken bag.

“Even the kids can learn to budget money and I’m just the idiot who waited until I was forty to do it, and you get to teach me and them at the same time, because I’m the one who brought a bag full of shoes to the mall the cobbler won’t even fix, and I’m the one sending our kids to school in - - _rags_, and - -”

She inhales, breathless suddenly, and she has to look away from him, blood thundering in her ears, hands shaking, and then Rio’s big, steady hands are on her arms, yanking her up so quickly she drops the bag of shoes all over again, but he doesn’t let her stop to pick it up. His hand moves promptly to her wrist, tugging her behind him, out into the aisle, pausing only briefly to tell Marcus and Jane to go to Kenny, and then they’re moving again, and Beth’s throat feels tight, because she knows exactly what he’s doing. Has seen him do this with the kids – seen him haul them off when they’re throwing tantrums, and that’s _not _what she’s doing, that’s not what this_ is_, but - - okay, maybe it is too, she thinks, letting Rio walk them over to the fitting rooms, ignoring the shop assistant, and shove Beth into the first empty one he can find. She almost stumbles head first into the mirrored wall, spinning around to see Rio slip in behind her, lock the door, clench his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

And then they just - - stand there.

Staring at each other, stuck in this tiny fitting room, and Beth’s chest is flushed and heaving, even beneath the neck of her sweater, and Rio’s still not looking at her, not doing anything except rubbing furiously at his face, eyes shut, and Beth refuses to be the one to break the quiet, not when he was the one who dragged her in here.

“Okay,” he says after another minute. He drops his hand, stares at her. “You know I love playin’ with you, darlin’, but we ain’t playin’ like this with the kids. We gotta be a team.”

“I know that,” Beth says sharply, and he shakes his head, his own voice raising.

“Nah, you don’t. You actin’ like coz you got the majority – those four kids you been tellin’ me about as long as I known you – that you call all the shots here.”

And just - - that’s not _fair_, she thinks, her arms flailing out either side of her.

“I let you try this budget thing, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you ain’t on board. I know it, and the kids know it, and shit, Elizabeth, that ain’t how I’m doin’ this.”

“I have a system that works!”

“Yeah, me too!”

He sucks in a breath, blinks hard all of a sudden, like he’s just realised how loud his voice had gotten, or maybe like he remembers the last time they said those words to each other, only then it was about counterfeit money, and not their children and it’s enough to make him push his hands on his hips. He stares angrily at the floor for a minute, and she remembers him last night, the way she’d thought she’s offended him, the sentence he hadn’t finished – _I’m a fuckin’ good fa-_

Guilt spikes in her gut, and Beth looks away, curling her arms around her waist. Outside she can hear customers quietly leaving their own change rooms, whispering to one another, and god, heat finds her cheeks, because there’s no way they’re not whispering about _them_, and Beth briefly clenches her eyes shut, shifting her weight.

“You spend too much money,” Beth tells him softly, or not him, tells the change room wall, and Rio exhales harshly.

“I ever done anythin’ to make you think I ain’t in control of my spendin’?”

“You spend too much money on _us_,” Beth corrects, her eyes flicking up to him, and Rio’s jaw rocks as he looks back at her.

“It’s our money,” he tells her. “We earn it together, don’t we? Partners and whatnot. Figure we got enough to spend some on us and ours too.”

And she knows he’s right – knows that she needs to get better at this, but money has always been something elusive to her, too difficultly earned, too easily lost, whether through Dean or through her own mistakes and - - sure, it’s not like she’s burying her money in her backyard anymore, but still. She can’t help but feel like this level of stability is temporary, but then - - she looks up at Rio. She thinks about his steady hands, on her hips, on her wrist, gentle against her cheek.

She thinks about them cleaning Jane’s ketchup-covered fingers, thinks about them helping with the buckles on Emma’s shoes or plucking the pencil out of Danny’s fingers to help him with homework, and just - -

“The kids are really happy,” she says. “I think the budget thing makes them feel really grown up.”

Rio looks a little smug at that, but he swallows the grin before it can settle, nods, says:

“Mmm. Marcus won’t stop yappin’ about some coat of your nephew’s too. Danny’s gonna need to watch his back, kid might not wait for him to outgrow it.”

Beth barks on a laugh, surprised, and the look of it all makes Rio grin for real, and just - - god, she loves his smile. Not the smug one, but this one, the one that splits his face into perfect fractions, that gives him crows feet, that shows off his perfect teeth, that somehow just makes him impossibly handsome and never doesn’t leave her breathless, and she thinks of telling him that, but instead she says:

“The cobbler would only re-sole like, four pairs of shoes,” because he’d find out sooner or later, and really she does want to moan about it and she isn’t sure she can wait until coffee with Ruby tomorrow. Rio exhales something that could almost be a laugh.

“So you sayin’ I was right about them?”

Beth rolls her eyes, rolls out a hand too, conceding, but doesn’t say it, and a slight spark of annoyance moves into Rio’s look which makes her feel weirdly vindicated in a way she can’t really help. It’s not like he hasn’t annoyed her for most of the day, but then that thought alone makes her bite the inside of her cheek. She looks back up at him. 

“Are we bad at this?”

“How many times I gotta tell you, darlin’? I ain’t bad at nothin’.”

“Please,” she says with a snort. “I’ve seen you burn a pan before you even put anything in it.”

It’s enough to make him make a noise of mock outrage, which gets a giggle out of Beth, and just - - god, how does he _do that_? How does he infuriate and diffuse and comfort and just - - _fix it_ like that? How does he look at her and figure out exactly what it is that’s ticking inside of her?

She swallows thickly, looking away, but before she can think much more of it, Rio’s speaking again.

“Saw somethin’ I almost bought you,” he tells her, and Beth looks back at him again, gaze flicking across her face, tracing the too-innocent set to his expression, the wetness of his lips, like he’s just licked them, and she arches an eyebrow.

“Let me guess, lingerie?”

Rio’s look of faux outrage returns in force, head shaking, eyes wide in make believe horror.

“Where you think I’ve been takin’ the kids?”

And - - right, Beth thinks, flushing right up to the shells of her ears, which only makes Rio grin. He promptly shrugs.

“Just pyjamas,” he tells her. “Know how much you like ‘em. Don’t think you got any new ones since we moved in together.”

She looks at him, trying to read into his expression, and it _is _a little too innocent, but it’s also - - _innocent_, she thinks. Not salacious, and it’s not like he would’ve detoured the kids to anywhere racy, and just - - then she thinks of that sweater she’d seen for him, and the matching one for Marcus, and just - -

“Buy it,” she says, ignoring the little voice in her head that tells her it’ll be too much. “And I’ll buy something for you. It can - - be a new tradition. I mean, it’s the start of the school year for us too.”

And Rio just grins wide at her.

*

And okay, maybe he doesn’t love the sweater, but Marcus does, practically glowing at the prospect of matching his dad, and she was right about it looking sweet on Marcus and handsome on Rio, the smoky teal somehow making him look all the sharper, the pointed V bringing out the lines of the hawk on his neck.

And he wears it in the afternoon, wears it to bed, pulling out the pyjamas he got her, which are less _pyjamas _and more _nightie _which is long, at least, she thinks, giving him an unamused look at the plunging neckline and relatively modest lace bust, but maybe the navy of it brings out her eyes, and the softness of her skin, and maybe it feels good too, the way Rio looks at her in it.

Maybe it feels even better to know it’s the same way he looks at her in her floral blouses and jeans. Maybe it keeps feeling good when Rio’s between her legs, the nightie up around her hips, her knees over his shoulders, ankles scrambling at his back. Maybe it even feels good when Rio sinks his teeth into the inside of her thigh just to make her gasp, and says:

“Gonna need to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” she asks breathlessly, back arching off the bed as he teases her entrance with the rough pad of his finger.

“That I was right about the shoes.”

And well, Beth thinks, glancing down at him, letting the challenge rest heavy in her eyes.

“Make me.”

And he does.

A few times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from The Beatles _Can't Buy Me Love_. 
> 
> [Beth's new nightie ;-)](https://www.hardtofind.com.au/168251_long-butterfly-nightdress-in-navy)


	17. Break this Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: #9 “oh, you’ve started stealing my socks now?”

“I’m just going to – ” 

“No, you ain’t,” Rio snaps back at her, his nostrils flaring, and Beth rolls her eyes, curling the blanket tighter around her shoulders and flopping back onto the couch. He squints at her for a second, and she’s pretty sure he’s waiting to make sure she doesn’t get up again, which is honestly hilarious. After all, she’s doing okay – she’s three glasses of red wine deep _and _has the blanket. He’s the one shivering in a pair of stiff black jeans and a too-thin hoodie on the living room floor.

Satisfied that she’s not going to make a break for the thermostat, he turns his attention back to the fire. Or rather, not the fire, Beth thinks, amused, but the enormous log he’d dropped into the fireplace, the smattering of kindling and what has to be close to thirty burnt out matches, leaving smears of charcoal on the concrete floor of the thing.

“We could just turn the central heating on until you get it going,” Beth says, and she keeps her voice light, soothing, even if internally she’s practically glowing. There’s just something so _magical _about finding something new he’s bad at, especially given the list is so short – cooking, singing (and that one had surprised all of them. “With that deep, husky voice?” Ruby had asked, eyebrow raised, grinning wide. “Figured he’d be a regular Ray Charles.”

“Nope,” Beth replied gleefully, taking a sip on her cocktail. “Like skinning a cat.”)

And now, apparently, lighting a fire.

Rio mumbles something under his breath which sounds vaguely threatening, but Beth’s pretty sure it’s aimed at the log, not her, which is a little harsh. After all, it’s not the log’s fault, she thinks, reaching to grab her wine glass off the coffee table and god, okay, it really is cold. She pulls her glass to her chest and then curls the blanket better around herself again, keeping the cool air at bay.

The night had started off so well too. With her kids at Dean’s and Marcus at Laura’s and the weather warnings blearing over the radio, Beth had closed the dealership early to get all the staff home safely and somehow managed to talk Rio into doing the same with the warehouse (albeit, not quite as early). It had barely been three by the time she’d gotten home, and she’d managed to throw on some sweats, get a casserole in the oven, crack a bottle of wine and check in with the kids, Annie and Ruby before Rio had stumbled in the door, brushing sleet from the shoulders of his coat.

And it had almost been romantic, she thinks contentedly, safe from the bustle of the real world outside of their dining room, eating dinner, drinking wine, jazz practically oozing languidly off Rio’s turntable, her foot inching up his leg beneath the table, when he’d suggested they take it to the living room.

And now here they were, Beth thinks, watching as Rio surges back up onto his knees, furiously lighting another match, holding it low on the kindling, the flame almost licking _around _the stick instead of catching on the bark, and it must be wet or something because it’s really not going to light. The match burns down, singing Rio’s fingers, and he swears, tossing the thing haphazardly into the fireplace.

Biting back a grin, Beth sits forwards a little on the couch, about to get up to help him (she’d have done it earlier if he hadn’t been so insistent on her staying warm and relaxing back on the couch – while also not letting her turn on the heating, promising this’d be roaring soon enough), when suddenly Rio’s work cell starts buzzing in the back pocket of his jeans. He cusses again, yanking it out, checking the number, and promptly answering it.

“What?” he grunts in lieu of a greeting, and someone must say something significant, because suddenly he’s rocking up to his feet, covering the mouthpiece as he looks at Beth and says:

“Gimme a minute, yeah?” before striding off into the hallway then darting up the stairs to their shared home office, and Beth frowns, because if he’s taking it upstairs, it means it’s either news he doesn’t want her to know, somebody he doesn’t want knowing about _her _(he’s weirdly paranoid about certain unnamed people hearing her voice, and no matter how much she pries, he refuses to tell her why), or both.

Watching him disappear up the stairs, Beth shuffles forwards, dropping her wine glass back to the coffee table and then herself to the floor.

Thing is, it is _weird_. All those months ago in Beth’s old bed, in her old house, the fireplace had been the first thing on his list when they’d played Dream House, and on those early, new nights, she’d dreamt of what that meant, assuming it held a significance to him in the same way that the kitchen did for her. Something that would make a house their home. Had imagined him with a childhood spent in front of one, toasting marshmallows or warming his toes, imagined it as one of the few things he’d had to go without in his loft, imagined him _missing _it, but now she’s not so sure.

It’s like he’s never even seen someone light one before.

She almost laughs when she gets to the fireplace, pushing aside the enormous log he’d laid down at the base of it and the sticks which actually _are _wet (he must’ve grabbed them from outside when she was cleaning up dinner), and starts to sort through the kindling, finding the smallest, driest pieces. She finds a newspaper on the shelf below the coffee table – one she’s pretty sure Rio’s done with, and tears off a few shreds, scrunches them up, starting to build the base of the fire. When she’s happy enough, she lights a match, dropping it down and watching the flame surge as it swallows the newspaper, just starting to catch the sticks above.

Humming a little to herself, she grabs one of the enflamed sticks, pushing it a little deeper, letting the embers flick over to the newspaper at the back, catching against them there, slowly starting to catch on the sticks there too. She watches the fire ebb, the embers starting to dust the concrete floor of the fireplace, lets it build again, her eyelashes briefly fluttering shut as the first breath of warmth hits her cheeks.

“So were you gonna tell me you knew how to do that, or just gonna watch me make a mess of it?”

The words are little more than a lazy drawl, and Beth glances behind herself to see him wandering towards her, like a whip of darkness in the cool, dusky light of the evening. She grins, shrugging, turning her attention back to the fire. She pulls the stoker off the holder, and gently prods a few of the flaming sticks towards the naked ones.

“You didn’t ask.”

Rio snorts, sitting down beside her, rocking just slightly forwards, and he doesn’t hold his hands out to the fire, doesn’t stretch out in front of it, but she knows he’s warming himself up. He runs cold anyway – she thinks it probably has something to do with the fact he has barely an ounce of body fat on him – but he doesn’t even have to touch her for her to know his hands are even more freezing than usual.

“Scouts,” he guesses, and Beth grins over at him again, tilting up her chin a little proudly.

“Got the badge and everything,” she replies, and then points with the stoker to where she’d pushed his efforts aside for her own. “Your log was too big.”

“Yeah, I heard that before,” he hums in faux resignation, and Beth rolls her eyes, a blush dusting her cheeks at the innuendo before she can stop it, and she pokes his side with the handle of the stoker. He takes it easily, and Beth moves around him, her blanket dragging behind her as she reaches for a smaller piece of wood.

“You need to be gentler with it too,” she says gesturing to the fire, and then quickly looks back at Rio, who’s mouth is open to reply. “Don’t.”

His laugh is quick, lyrical over the crackle and thrum of the fire, and Beth can’t quite bite back her grin either as she carefully places the smaller log by one of the healthiest parts of the fire, letting the flames slowly engulf it.

“Everything okay?” she asks, and at Rio’s questioning look, adds: “With the phone call, I mean.”

Rocking his head from side-to-side, Rio prods at the fire, watching the flames move, sticks like skeleton fingers snap beneath the heat. This close, she can see the slightest dusting of freckles at his cheeks, each little bump of new hair in his five o’clock shadow, the impossible length of his eyelashes. He looks engrossed, eyes tracing the way the fire builds, the way it consumes, the way it -

“Can you take more cars next week?”

Beth blinks back at him, wets her lips, collecting herself. She wraps herself up again in the blanket, curling her legs underneath her as she thinks it over.

“Probably,” she decides. “Not like we have the kids, and Annie could use the extra cash at the moment for Ben's meds anyway, so I’m sure she wouldn’t say no to a few longer days too.”

“Might need you to.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks again, forehead furrowing, and Rio sighs this time, clenching his eyes shut briefly, rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. She doesn’t think he’ll reply – usually doesn’t when she asks, and she knows he’ll be annoyed if she asks again. To her surprise though, Rio drops his hand, stokes the fire, and says:

“Just internal shit with our suppliers. Want to finish up faster so we can shut down business with ‘em. AJ’s hooked me up with some guys he’s worked with before, says they’re hard work too, but get shit done. Figure I’ll go check ‘em out, and if they’re good, start moving us across, at least temporarily, until we find someone longer term.”

Beth considers this. She knows there’s been issues with one of their big suppliers – has been for months, Rio had told her as much, but she hadn’t realised it had gotten this bad. She bites the inside of her cheek.

“If we’re changing people, I want to be there to meet them,” she says, and Rio exhales, like he knew that was what she was going to say, and Beth frowns, watching him watch the fire. It’s not like she hasn’t met with people before, with suppliers and partners and associates, but Rio rarely offers. She thought for a while that he liked making her weasel her way into it all, and she thinks that he did, for a while, but these days he seems to only like her in meetings with people he’s - - _they’re_ already in business with. People he knows. Like he’s worried she might make a bad impression or something on anyone new, and sure, she knows she’s not exactly Demon, but she thinks she’s always presented professionally. 

When he doesn’t answer, Beth’s frown deepens.

“Rio.”

“You get all your badges?”

Beth blinks, forehead furrowing.

“What?”

“At scouts,” Rio adds when he clocks her confusion, and Beth promptly rolls her eyes. “Ain’t there like a hundred of ‘em?”

“Rio, I’m serious.”

“You still got ‘em? I bet you do,” he hums, dropping the stoker to the front of the fireplace and shuffling a little back. He looks over at her appreciatively, sucking in his lips, like he’s picturing it. “Got the little hat still?”

“_Rio_,” she groans, hand escaping the blanket to push him, when suddenly he surges forwards, pushing her heavily onto her back against the freezing floorboards. She squawks, flails, still half tangled in the blanket as he rolls them over until she’s lying flat on top of him, and god, she must be squashing him, she thinks, feeling the sharp plains of him underneath her, and she tries to sit up, but he pulls the blanket around her and uses it to yank her back down towards him so hard she’s almost winded against the hard, flat top of his ribcage.

She squints down at him.

“You’re too skinny,” she tells him accusingly, and he just looks up at her, eyebrow raised, as she adds: “No wonder you’re always cold.”

“Ain’t that what I got you for?” he asks, and Beth rolls her eyes, about to tell him no, actually, but he _does_ have her to go to this meeting with him, thank you very much, when suddenly he pulls her close to him, shoving his freezing hands down the back of her sweat pants, squeezing her ass over her panties before changing his mind and shoving his hands beneath those as well. Beth makes a noise she’s pretty sure only dogs can hear, trying to wriggle away from him, and Rio just laughs, rolling her onto her side and rubbing his icy nose against her neck.

“Mmm, feelin’ warmer already,” he purrs, rolling his hips against hers, and Beth groans in the least sexy way possible, trying to wriggle away from his cold hands. It’s no good though, they’re too big and – when he feels her moving – too firm.

“Yeah, well, believe it or not, _I’m _not,” she hisses in reply, and Rio sits back enough to look down at her, pulling one of his hands off her ass.

“Yeah? Damn. Think I got a few ideas on how we fix that though.”

Beth gives him an unimpressed look at that, and when she goes to push him off her, he grabs both her wrists in his hand and gives her a shit eating grin. It’s enough to make her smile way too sweetly in reply, lifting her leg until she can get her foot against his hip, kicking him back, when he glances down, eyebrow arched, and promptly lets go of her wrists to tug on her (well, _his_) black sock.

“Oh, so you’ve started stealin’ my socks now?” he says, and Beth curls her toes to stop him from pulling it off her. They really are warmer, she thinks, even if they swallow practically half her leg.

“Well, since stealing your money and your business worked out so well for me, I figured I should see how this went,” she says with a sniff, just to see the way his forehead furrows, his lips part, unimpressed.

“Oh, is that right?”

A giggle escapes Beth’s mouth before she can help it, and Rio grabs her ankle, pushing it away so he can better slide between her legs, laying flush against her, and she almost hates the way her breath hitches, the way he notices it – of course he notices it – and well, she thinks, blinking suddenly when she feels his half-hard cock push against her cunt. She keens before she can help that too, feeling the heat pool low in her.

“You warmin’ up yet, mama?” he asks her, the hand down the back of her pants shifting, moving around to her hip, playing with the lace of her panties, keeps moving, until his cold fingers are slipping between her folds, and she jumps, fingernails digging into his neck, and god, when had her hands even moved there?

“We haven’t finished this conversation,” she promises him, squinting, and he nods, faux serious, but there’s a look in his eye that tells her he knows that too, and as long as he _does, _Beth thinks, surging up to kiss him.

That’s really all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the Frank Loesser song, 'Baby, It's Cold Outside'


	18. Louder Now, Help Me Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: I want you to write something where Beth and Rio have to explain to one of the kids where babies come from 😂😂 I can just see the arkwardness 🌹‼️🤪🥰❤️

“Hmmm, I don’t know if I like this,” Annie says, squinting across the backyard as Beth passes her a mug of coffee, moving to sit beside Ruby on the other outdoor setting, following her sister’s gaze out across the yard. Beth hums in agreement, watching as Emma glances back at them, Jane and Marcus on either side of her, whispering things into her ears like an angel and a devil on her shoulder, and god, who’s she kidding. A matching pair of devils. 

“Right?” Beth says, taking a sip of her own coffee as Marcus suddenly starts talking louder, becoming audible albeit not intelligible, gesturing to Jane and Emma together, and then to himself, like he’s trying to convince them both of something. She frowns, considering them. “They’ve been like this since I picked them up from school yesterday.”

Well, Jane and Marcus have at least, Beth thinks. It’d been weird. They’d been unusually quiet when she’d gotten there, sitting together in the back of the classroom, furiously whispering to each other which had their poor teacher laughing nervously (and god, he’d been so relieved when Beth had led them out the door to take them home, a fact she has approximately zero intention of telling Rio any time soon. Although even now the thought makes her groan – parent-teacher night’s next month after all, and she’s not sure she’s ready for the laundry list of Jane and Marcus’ misbehaviour, at least not while sitting next to an inevitably irritable and punishment-scheming Rio).

The fact of all of that alone had been strange enough, but they’d just sort of - - _stared _at her, like they’d never seen her before. In the classroom, on the car ride home, even when she had all five kids set up at the dining room table doing homework. Stared at her until Beth had jokingly made some robot noises which - - okay, they were _seven _and the unimpressed look on Jane’s face and the pitying one on Marcus’ had Beth already dreading adolescence.

Thing is, it hadn’t even stopped at her.

Rio had gotten home from work just before dinner, and Jane hadn’t been able to stop looking at him either, but Marcus - - he’d barely been able to look at his father at _all_, had pointedly avoided him in a way that had Rio tense throughout dinner and then quiet in bed with her. The way his unhappiness over it oozed off him had had Beth pulling his head to her chest and massaging the tension out of his neck until his eyelashes fluttered shut against her skin and his breaths steadied at her breast.

She tells Annie and Ruby as much (albeit with a little less detail).

“You don’t think one of the mom’s has said anything to the kids about Rio again, do you?” Ruby asks, tone weighted with concern, and Beth rocks her head from side-to-side.

“I don’t think so? As much as I hate it, Rio wasn’t wrong when he said Marcus is used to kids saying things about him. Besides, why would that mean they were staring at _me_?”

Both Annie and Ruby seem to consider that, and Beth lets her gaze settle back on the kids, watching as Emma suddenly furiously shakes her head, Marcus still talking beside her. She clutches her doll to her chest, and Beth sighs, shifting to get up only - - only Emma’s not upset. She’s wrinkling her nose, like he’s just told her something gross. Beth sits back down, frowning, confused.

“Maybe they’ve just realised that you’re all ABC family hour, and gangfriend’s like, late nights on HBO,” Annie jokes, and Beth just gives her a look. “Speaking of gangfriend, where is he? Thought you said he’d been taking the weekends off when you guys have the kids?”

“He is. He just likes to go to the gym in the morning. He and a few other guys have this like, boxing group. They’re all pretty into it.”

And so’s she, if she’s honest. Likes Rio coming home a little sweaty and a lot relaxed, the tension eased from his body in a way she only usually sees when he’s fucked her until she can barely walk which is - - fun too, but not exactly helpful the weekends they have a houseful of kids and an errand list as long as her arm.

“Mm, I bet they are,” Annie hums dreamily. Her gaze flicks back to Beth. “You need to tell me where he goes.”

Beth snorts.

“What, so you can perv?”

It’s enough to make Ruby laugh and Annie to give them both a look of mock outrage, waving her arm out enough to spill her coffee on her jeans, but she barely seems to notice.

“Maybe I want to join, huh, did you think about that?” she says, and then, a breath later: “But for real. I’m single, and there’s something like, primal about watching hot guys box. I assume he’s boxing with other dark and broody babes? What am I saying, of course he is.”

And god, it’s not like Annie’s wrong. On the primal thing, or the other babes. Rio had tried to get her going to his trendy inner-city gym instead of the yoga studio at the club a few times now, and it had just been too much. She always finished working out before him, which meant she always ended up watching him until he was ready to go, and she’d never really understood it before him, but watching Rio box just _did _things to her. The strong, firm line of his body, glistening with sweat, the light agility of him on his feet, the power in his arms, in his legs, the way he usually won, and just - - god, she was always breathless by the time he was out of the ring, and then even more so when he fucked her up against the lockers in the change room, the metal cutting her back, his body slick with sweat against hers, the way he’d fuck her like a prize, his fingers bruising at her ass, and - -

Beth swallows thickly, crosses her legs, and Ruby stares at her, amused, eyebrows halfway up her forehead.

“You okay there, B?”

Beth waves her off, taking a sip of her coffee.

She’d stopped going after they got caught by a guy Rio knew, materialising out of nowhere and wolfwhistling right as Rio had slammed back into her and just - -

Seriously.

She blushes to the roots of her hair.

She could never go back.

Beside her, Annie suddenly lurches to her feet, finishing the last of her coffee and letting it hang limp from her hand. She gestures vaguely to Beth.

“As much as I’d love to unpack everything about that look, I should probably go,” she says. “Greg’s dropping Ben off tomorrow and like, I haven’t done any dishes since he picked him up, so.”

Which is - - well, a pretty effective way to kill any of Beth’s leftover heat (she should really keep that in the back of her mind for when Rio’s feeling particularly – um – _playful _in public). Ruby seems to echo the disdain at least, and they both groan at Annie.

“Bitch, it has been a week and a half. Are you kidding me?”

“I would literally buy you a dishwasher myself if I thought you would ever actually use it,” Beth adds, and Annie laughs, opens her mouth to reply when Marcus and the girls suddenly appear at her side on the patio. Beth sits up a little taller, smiling at them, and Marcus smiles back, a picture of innocence as he says:

“Miss Elizabeth, do you and my daddy have sex?”

Somewhere inside, Beth can hear Kenny and Danny playing video games, can hear lunch gently simmering in the crockpot, can hear the faintest whir of the washing machine working through its cycle. Which is nice, she thinks blankly, her smile not shifting as she tries to process what Marcus has just said to her. She can’t quite look at Ruby, who even out of the corner of her eye she can see has her mouth hanging open, and she _definitely _can’t look at Annie, even if she does see her drop heavily back down into her chair (doesn’t even have to know for sure to _know _that she’s grinning).

Beth clears her throat, softening her gaze.

“Who told you that?” she asks, and beside him, Jane shrugs, a suspicious look on her face.

“Lucas Bircher. He said he saw his daddy naked and he put his penis inside his mommy’s butt and then his daddy told him that that was sex and it was how they made babies.”

“Not if it’s in her butt,” Ruby says quietly, taking a sip of her coffee when Beth spins around to glare at her. She drops her mouth open, planning to tell the kids what, she’s not sure, when Jane continues:

“But then we asked Kenny, and Kenny said growed-ups have sex because it’s fun and that you and Mr Rio do it _all _the time_.”_

And Beth blinks at that, heat flooding her cheeks, and she’s not sure if it’s more in embarrassment or anger, because god, she could _kill _him.

“He said what?”

“I said you’d never do that, mommy. I told them you and Mr Rio don’t like having fun,” Emma says authoritatively, and just like that, the dam breaks for Annie, her braying laugh exploding out of her as she collapses back into the chair.

“My daddy loves having fun,” Marcus insists with a frown, and Annie laughs even louder.

“Oh, he really does, kiddo, he _really _does.”

Beth spins around to glare at Annie, only to catch Emma and Jane in the process, who are looking at Beth unconvinced, which - - _rude_, Beth thinks. She’s a lot of fun!

“But how does putting a penis in your butt make a baby?” Jane says with a frown, and well, Beth swallows a grimace, looking helplessly over at Ruby, who just shrugs uselessly back at her, waving out a hand. Beth sighs, trying to remember how she’d explained it to Kenny, and - - right. She’d explained it through being pregnant with Jane, but Jane was the youngest, and there was barely a year and a half between Emma and Jane, and Marcus _had _no younger siblings (well, not until Jane), and Beth flounders a little.

“Well, you remember your Aunt Nancy,” Beth tries. “You remember how her belly got _really _big because it was busy making your cousin Dakota.”

Marcus looks at her blankly, but Jane and Emma both seem to think about it, Emma most of all, clutching her doll back to her chest, her forehead furrowing deeply.

“So Uncle Greg and Aunt Nancy had sex,” she says slowly, and Beth blinks as Annie’s laughter stutters, and right, this might not have been her best idea. 

“Are you and Mr Rio trying to have a baby?” Emma asks, brightening suddenly, and Jane stares at Beth and scowls.

“You had enough babies. No more.”

Which is enough to make Marcus frown, like he categorically disagrees, and god, Beth wishes she could take this conversation back about ten minutes and…then maybe put a pin in it for ten years.

“No, we’re not trying to have a baby,” Beth says, ignoring Annie’s _thank god_, and Ruby’s muttered agreement, and she flushes again before she can help herself, adds: “We-“

But before she can get very far, Emma interrupts her.

“But then why are you having sex?”

Jane scoffs, rolls her eyes, shoving Emma’s arm.

“Kenny said it was fun, stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!”

“’Ey, nobody’s stupid.”

Rio’s voice cuts through the kids’ chatter like an arrow, and Beth spins on the spot before she can help herself, her eyes wide, mortified, because god, this is not a conversation anyone should have sprung on them, and she’s flushing to the roots of her hair all over again. Rio clocks it, forehead furrowing slightly at her as he strides forwards to stand beside her chair, his duffel bag from the gym slung over his shoulder, his knuckles still strapped, and he looks impossibly good in a pair of sweats and a loose tank. He pauses only when he suddenly sees all three sets of kid’s eyes wheel around onto him, and Beth feels it – the way his eyes dart first to Ruby, who’s suddenly looking incredibly enthralled by something in the sky, and then to Annie, who’s grinning so wide her face looks like it might split in two, and then to Beth, who starts mouthing words at him before she can help it, trying to give him a heads up, but he just returns the kids’ stare instead.

“Still doin’ this, huh?” he says, amused, or at least he is until Marcus asks him:

“Daddy, why do you have sex with Miss Elizabeth if you’re not making me a baby brother or sister?”

And honestly, it’d almost be funny – the short circuiting look on his face if Beth could summon a breath. At least Annie seems to find it funny, if the way Annie’s laugh twists into an almost strangled scream is anything to go by. Rio gives her a look that should just about kill her, before he turns his attention to Beth. He pauses briefly, taking in her flushed cheeks and her wide, slightly wet eyes, before he looks at the floor, then lets his gaze flick back up to her.

“Elizabeth, why is my son askin’ me about sex?”

His voice is deceptively calm, but she can _hear _the do-not-want strain underneath it, and Beth, she shakes her head. 

“A kid at school talked about it,” she says apologetically. “And then Kenny maybe offered an - - an inappropriate opinion.”

Rio nods, unblinking, staring down at Marcus who just tilts his head, turning briefly back to Beth.

“Is sex why you kiss so much?” Marcus asks her, having not gotten an answer from his father, and Jane nods, adds:

“And why Mr Rio touches your boobies?”

“I don’t think boobies are for sex,” Marcus says authoritatively, and he glances over at Beth’s chest, squinting a little at them, like he’s trying to understand. “Miss Elizabeth’s are just big and really soft and like the best, most comfortablest pillow in the world, and my daddy likes things that are the best.”

“You need to kill me,” Annie whispers to Ruby. “My life will never get better than this moment.”

It earns her another sharp look from Rio, his jaw rocking forwards, before finally he huffs out a breath, stepping forwards on the patio to crouch down in front of the kids, his gaze shifting between them, and it’s almost unfair, how easily he can command their attention.

“I kiss Miss Elizabeth for a lot of reasons,” he tells them, and Beth feels her breath catch. “I kiss her because it’s fun, like Kenny said, and I kiss her because I like her, and I think she’s real pretty, and I kiss her sometimes to make her feel better, or make me feel better, and sometimes just when she’s talkin’ a lot,” and okay, Beth thinks, rolling her eyes. “And I kiss her coz she’s my girlfriend, remember?”

The kids all seem to consider this, their little faces scrunching up, and it’s Emma who asks:

“Do you kiss her when you have sex?”

“Yeah, I do,” he tells them easily, his voice soft. “Sex is somethin’ that grown ups do for all those reasons as well, and yeah, sometimes to make babies too. It’s how me and your ma made you,” he pokes Marcus gently in the belly, before glancing over at the girls. “And how your mama and your dad made you guys, but it ain’t just for that. Most important thing to remember is that sex is something special two grown ups who like each other and want to be with each other share together, and when you guys are a lot older, when you growin’ up, and you want to share that somethin’ special with a boyfriend or a girlfriend of your own, you come and talk to me and your mama about it, and we’ll help you make sure it’ll be somethin’ that’s gonna be real special, and real fun, yeah?”

The kids nod, placated, and she can tell they’re still a little curious, but at least for now the matter seems to be settled. Even more so when Rio suddenly claps his hands together, rising back up to his feet and grabbing his duffel. He yanks open the zip, pulling out a white paper bag, and says:

“Now who wants donuts?”

It’s seamless then, the utter delight that erupts on the kids faces, and Rio grins, nodding his head back towards the house, waving the bag at them.

“I’m gonna be checkin’ fingernails before you gettin’ one of these, so go clean ‘em up.”

The kids practically sprint into the house, giggling and Beth watches them go, amused if not still a little embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she says, wrinkling her nose, and Rio looks back at her, shrugs.

“Kids,” he replies simply. “You gonna have the talk with Kenny about appropriate conversations or you want me to?”

“I can,” Beth says with a sigh, although she doesn’t particularly want to. Rio just nods, takes her in, and Beth blinks, feels a heat shoot through her that really has no place right now. “Let me know if you need me to help you feel better after, yeah?”

It’s flippant, but it’s also - - god, it’s loaded, and Beth flushes, bites her lip, and Rio grins at her, waving a hand back at Annie and Ruby, adding a, “Ladies,” by way of greeting before darting back into the house, calling out to the kids, and Beth just watches him, a warmth spreading in her chest that she doesn’t really know what to do with.

“How does he do that?” Annie says behind her, and Beth reels around at where her sister is squinting after him, and Beth puts on her best groan.

“I know,” she says, playing up her resignation. “I hate it. I mean, I love it, but you know. I hate it.”

“Love _it_, huh?” Ruby says, and Beth blinks over at her, eyes scanning her face, and Ruby just wriggles her shoulders, sinking a little further down in her seat, taking another sip of coffee. “Just like he _likes _you, huh?”

And just - -

Beth flushes, squints, fumbles a little with her coffee mug.

“What are you talking about?”

And then Annie and Ruby are both laughing, and Beth rolls her eyes, shuffling up to her feet, grabbing their empty cups and telling Annie she should come with her, if she wants a demonstration on how to clean up after you eat, which only makes her sister squawk, and so what, if maybe Annie and Ruby look at her a little knowingly later too, when they catch Beth watching Rio carefully clean the powdered sugar from the donuts off the kids’ hands?

And so what if maybe Ruby just smiles at her, watching Rio set the table for lunch?

So what if she lets Rio make her feel better later, and so what if he makes her laugh, tickling her bare chest with his stubble, if he bites her breast in that way that makes her breathless, so what if it _is _fun, so what if she lov - -

_Oh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Salt-N-Pepper's _Let's Talk About Sex_.


	19. Friar's Lantern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts: #68: A Hoarse Whisper “Kiss Me” (kind of done, haha) + # 70: Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion + @ney999‘s prompt: fix req: I'd really enjoy scenes of Beth bonding or interacting with Marcus and/or Rio's other family members. But definitely some Marcus/Beth interactions. All your domestic pics have been highly entertaining, so thank ya! + Anon prompt: Idk if this will fit into the fluffiness that is the beloved Center and Circumference universe but here’s my prompt anyways! Can we get Rio struggling to balance Crime Boss Rio and Family Man Rio?? Like we all know he’s a great dad but he also runs his own crime empire and I’m sure sometimes he has to sacrifice one for the other ya know?

“That’s fourteen hatchbacks sold so far, and three minivans,” Nora says, scrolling through her iPad and ticking off the orders. “Oh! Before I forget, Adam’s asking if we can get any more of the Kia Sedona’s before next week? He’s got another two potential sales.”

Beth flicks through the binder in her arms, struggling to get to the right page while she’s walking across the dealership floor, her secretary, Nora, on her heels. She probably should upgrade to the iPad too, she thinks, eyeing off Nora’s easy step with the thin, lean weight of the tablet, but it’s got all those buttons, and last time Beth had borrowed Annie’s, she accidentally deleted stuff, and just - - she likes paper, likes the physicality of it, even if she does feel like she’s about to break her wrists lugging this thing around. 

She licks her finger, finding the right page, eyes darting as she reads it.

“We could probably get another five in? But only if he can promise at least one of those is already a guaranteed sale. They’re just too big to keep on the lot longterm right now,” Beth tells her, and Nora nods, agreeing, making a quick note.

“He seems pretty sure, but I’ll doublecheck.”

Giving her a quick thank you, Beth keeps walking back towards her office, glancing over at where the dealership is alive with energy, customers pouring into almost every corner, the laughter of children sounding loud from the childcare corner, and god, Beth can’t quite bite back the grin. The weekend sale had been fairly impromptu. Rio had suddenly needed the space for more of his (_their_) cars – not just ones full of pharmaceuticals, but a few extras with wrapping paper rolls of fake money stored in the car walls, and he’d told Beth to do what she had to.

So she had.

It had been a big job, working out the sales margins, organising staff, even bringing on a new marketing coordinator to help the manager send out a flurry of sales ads – online, on TV and in flyer drops, but all in all, it was going well. It had helped, of course, to have Annie and Ruby on site to talk up the family cars, and to have her kids at Dean’s, Marcus at Laura’s, to make her feel less guilty about letting this whole thing eat up her last two weekends.

Still, she thinks, frowning, even with the late nights she was pulling to empty the lot as legally as possible, she’d been getting home before Rio. Last night had been the worst of it. It had been almost midnight after all before she’d dragged herself in the door to find the house empty, and she’d been woken sometime around three to him collapsing into bed beside her. The fact of which perhaps wouldn’t be that unusual if she hadn’t hit snooze on her alarm clock at six to find him already gone.

Biting her lip, she closes the binder in her arms, trying to refocus on Nora beside her, who’s chattering away about the cars they’ve sold so far.

“I’m so sorry,” Beth says, yanking a sheet of paper out from her binder and uncapping the pen hooked in the front of it. “I was a million miles away. Would you mind running through that again?”

Nora nods enthusiastically, unoffended, starting again from the top, and Beth starts scribbling the math down onto the sheet of paper, using the binder as a makeshift desk, when suddenly her phone starts vibrating in the back pocket of her slacks.

“Jeez,” she says, fumbling a little, and Nora’s trying to help her with the binder, but Beth doesn’t quite want to let it go, so she just sort of one-arms it, finally yanking her phone out and blinking slightly when she sees Rio’s personal number blear up on the screen. She glances back at Nora.

“I’ve got to take this,” she says apologetically, and Nora nods, letting Beth stride off down the lot, hooking her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she awkwardly manoeuvrers the binder and pushes back into her office.

“Hi,” she answers, a little breathless after all the shuffling, and her first thought is that he must be calling for dinner. If it was work related, he’d have called the work line after all, and as soon as the thought hits, Beth’s stomach grumbles. God, did she even have breakfast this morning? She knows she’s skipped lunch. 

“’ey, you free?”

Maybe she can get him to bring her food from that Balinese restaurant he’d taken her to last month – maybe Nasi Ayam or those soy cake thingies or _both_. She practically moans at the thought.

“Right now?” she asks instead, offloading her binder onto her desk and briefly kicking off her pumps. She massages one foot with her free hand, and then the other. As tempting as the possibility of eating right now is, she’s got too much to do to slow down any time soon. “I think we need to get your memory checked. Remember how you needed me to empty the – ”

“You ‘right if Laura drops Marcus with you?”

And - -

That’s not what she was expecting. Beth drops her foot, stands up a little straighter, concern settling at the tip of her tongue.

“Is everything okay?”

Rio hums in affirmation, and then he must cover the mouthpiece, because suddenly he’s calling out to someone, saying something that Beth can’t quite hear, muffled, despite how much she strains her ears. The phone line crackles as he comes back on.

“Laura’s partner at the restaurant just quit,” he says, and he’s irritated now, frustrated, and Beth rests her butt back on the edge of the desk, her forehead furrowing. “No notice, nothin’, and he was supposed to be presentin’ at this hospitality conference in New York tomorrow, so now Laura’s gotta go and do it. She ain’t ready to leave Marcus with her new boyfriend, and shit, I ain’t had him checked out yet anyway – figured she’d be back with Simon by now, so I ain’t ready for that shit neither. Her sister’s at a weddin’ in Houston, and my mom’s gone with Aida to some show on in Portland, and I can’t - - I got work.”

Which, sure, Beth thinks, glancing out across the packed lot, the mass of customers pouring over cars – but so does _she_. She fidgets on the spot, gaze sliding back around to her office, spotting Nora hovering just outside her closed door, answering emails on her iPad, watches her step forwards suddenly, stopping one of the showroom guys from knocking on Beth’s door with what is no doubt an Issue. Beth frowns.

“I’ve got work too,” she says, which only makes Rio suck in an annoyed breath down the line. “Remember how I’m emptying my lot for you this weekend? What about Carmen?”

“For _us. _You emptyin’ _our_ lot for _us,_ baby, you ain’t doin’ me no favours.”

Beth rolls her eyes, because isn’t that ironic? Him insisting she does him no favours at the exact moment he asks for one? Still, she puts a pin in that argument when Rio keeps going:

“And Carmen’s workin’ at the hospital. Believe it or not, they don’t really love seven-year-olds hangin’ around op rooms. ‘Sides, ain’t you always tellin’ me how good your idea of a play area at _our _dealership was?”

She squints a little, bites the inside of her cheek, because that feels like about eight different traps. Scooting a bit further back onto her desk, just enough that she’s actually sitting on it, she shakes her head.

“Yes, I am, and it _was _a great idea. So great that it’s _full_,” Beth tells him, because it _is_. And despite the fact that half of this argument right now is the principal of the thing (his work is _not _more important than hers, dammit), she still checks through the glass, counts the kids, watches Gwen try to wrangle them, run off her feet.

Definitely full.

Rio huffs.

“He can’t come to work with me today,” Rio says again, gruffly this time, which is bullshit, Beth thinks. Marcus has gone to work with Rio plenty of times – sat in his office at the warehouse with Demon or Dags teaching him card games. Beth knows – she’s seen it.

“Why not?” she asks irritably, trying to toe her swollen feet back into her pumps. “You worried he’ll be bored? Because trust me, watching me fill in paperwork is just as boring as watching you do it.”

“Elizabeth, you ain’t listenin’,” he tells her, voice tight with frustration. “_He can’t come to work with me today._ I’m - - meetin’ with people.”

Beth just - -

Stops.

Her hand now clenched around the heel of her shoe, and it’s so sudden, the tightening in her chest, the sharp sting of - - _something _\- - in her head.

“With who?” she asks, and Rio sighs, the sound rattling through the line.

“That’s not important.”

“It sounds important,” Beth insists, and god, she sounds shrill even to her own ears. “Rio - -”

“Can you take him or not?”

She finally yanks her shoe on, dropping her foot so heavily she almost snaps the heel. Pushing a hand to her forehead, she just - - holds it briefly, trying to swallow down the annoyance and the uncertainty, because he promised her he was going to start _telling _her this stuff, dammit. She exhales, wets her lips.

“Of course I can, but Rio, I need to know where you –”

The line cuts.

*

It doesn’t occur to Beth that Rio has already told Laura to drop Marcus at the dealership until the other woman appears in the foyer less than ten minutes after Rio had hung up on her, one hand clasping Marcus’, the other dragging a small, black suitcase behind her.

And god, Beth hasn’t even had the chance to get out of her office to wrap anything up – to do anything more than send Nora to check in with Adam about the Kia Sedona’s, and try and free Annie or Ruby up enough to come to Beth’s office and - - what, Beth has no idea. Help? She’s still smarting from Rio not having told her about the meeting, from him _hanging up on her_, and even now, it takes her a moment to catch her breath, to try and slip on a look that’s any fraction more pleasant than she feels right now to go and greet Laura and Marcus in the foyer.

At least it’s not just her, she thinks, getting a better look at the other woman as her heels squeak on the linoleum of the dealership floor. Laura looks about twice as frazzled as Beth feels, her shirt slightly askew, her mascara clumping, like it was put on hastily, her dark hair frizzing at her temples with sweat.

Beth waves, smiling when Marcus spots her, freeing himself from Laura’s grip to bound easily across the floor towards her. Crouching down, she lets Marcus fill her arms briefly in a quick hug before he tears himself away.

“Where’s Jane?” he asks in lieu of hello, and behind him, Laura pulls herself to a stop, groaning. She tugs gently, reprimanding, at his backpack.

“You remember _any _of your manners, kiddo? Maybe say hi to Beth before looking for the next best thing?”

Marcus at least has the courtesy to look a little abashed, but Beth just laughs, waving a hand out at Laura.

“It’s fine, I don’t think Jane’s any better when it comes to this guy,” she says, before directing her attention back down to Marcus. “She’s still at her daddy’s, honey, but she’ll be here next weekend.”

The news seems to strike him as just another disappointment, his shoulders sagging, but he nods, and Beth swallows any guilt she feels over it – because god, he’s _upset_, and she already knows Jane will be too when she finds out Marcus has been here without her, but none of that is her fault and just - -

She spins Marcus around, swallowing her still lingering irritation at Rio, and gently tugging his Toy Story backpack off his shoulders, but before she can direct him over to Gwen and the play area, Marcus is looking back at her, a little uncertainly.

“Do I have to go over there?” he asks, eyes wide, and _yes_, _please_, Beth thinks, already picturing the pile of work that she’s behind on as she shakes her head _no_. 

“Not if you don’t want to.”

Marcus looks at her then, his face careful, twisting back briefly to the mass of rowdy kids running poor Gwen off her feet, and then back to Beth. It’s enough to make Laura step in, running her hand back through Marcus’ hair, gently pulling it at the back so that he has to tilt his head up to look at her.

“Why don’t you go read your book in Beth’s office?”

As soon as the words have left Laura’s lips, she falters, looking quickly up at Beth, like she’s worried she might have overstepped. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Beth says quickly, before anymore doubt can settle over Laura’s face, before Marcus could ever pick up on it, and Laura nods. She gestures for Marcus’ backpack, pulling out a book, passing it down to Marcus and gesturing him back into Beth’s office. It’s practically instantaneous then, the way he grabs it, darting back into the other room, flopping down on Beth’s couch and settling in, and just - - right, Beth thinks, starting to re-route her afternoon plans in her head.

Maybe she can finish up the rest of her paperwork in there? She’d hoped to spend some of the afternoon out in the showroom, to really _see _the cars move, to sell some herself, but that’d be impossible with Marcus in tow, especially with all these people around. She’d be too worried of losing sight of him to really work out there. She could probably see if Annie or Ruby could keep an eye on him while she does it, but then - -

She bites the inside of her cheek, still thinking it over when suddenly Laura pushes the handle down in the suitcase and picks it up.

“Should I just put this in your office too?”

And - - what?

Beth blinks, opens her mouth, _ahhhs _maybe a little too long, because isn’t the suitcase Laura’s? For New York? The question must pass across her face, because Laura suddenly looks taken aback.

“Did Chris - - I mean, I know you’re not supposed to have Marcus until next weekend, but Christopher said you could take him for the extra week?”

The way she asks it is slow and then too quick, just full of tentativeness, and Beth suddenly finds herself flustering and then trying to cover it, waving her hands around like she’s - - god, she has no idea. A windmill? She hopes none of the staff can see her.

“Right, of course. I’m so sorry, just slipped my mind. It’s been a crazy day, you know?”

It’s enough to make Laura breathe out a sigh of relief, tying Marcus’ backpack strap to his suitcase before passing both to Beth.

“You’re a godsend, thank you. Like, seriously, you have no idea how much you’re saving my ass right now. My business partner, he just - -”

She flails, and Beth nods sympathetically, still trying to reclaim any sort of control of this situation.

“Christopher said he quit without notice?”

“Right,” Laura replies, huffing out a breath. She runs a hand back through her hair. “Fucking asshole. We’re rolling out this whole new menu, plus we’re supposed to be presenting at these restaurant management conferences all up the east coast, and he’s just gone and fucked off. It’s a total nightmare. I was supposed to be meeting him in New York after I dropped Marcus at yours next weekend, but now all the plans are shot, and I’m trying to do this while trying to like, babysit my chefs who are all just fighting like fucking children, and it’s just - - ”

“A nightmare,” Beth agrees sympathetically, her lips twitching up, and Laura laughs, running a hand back through her hair again.

“Right. So thank you, I seriously don’t know what I would’ve done if you and Chris hadn’t agreed to all of this, and just - - _shit_, is that the time?”

With a blink, Beth swivels on the spot, following Laura’s line of vision to the clock on the far wall of the dealership, across the mass of customers still milling about, and god - - it’s almost _four_.

“I’ve gotta go,” Laura says quickly, yanking a hair elastic off her wrist and throwing her dark hair back into a ponytail. She swivels on the spot, just enough to check on Marcus, who’s still sprawled on the couch in Beth’s office, swinging his legs as he reads his book, before she adds: “Cool, where’s Chris? I just gotta talk to him quick before I go. Marcus has a playdate tomorrow afternoon, so - -”

Laura’s words dry in Beth’s mouth, make her eyes blink furiously, because that means - - Rio told her - - Beth makes a noise that might be a word, she’s not sure, before Laura’s suddenly spinning around to face her again, her gaze set, her own lips parted. Beth clears her throat.

“Christopher isn’t here,” she says, trying to play it light, to keep her tone easy, and it’s immediate, the way Laura’s face hardens, like she’s set in stone, and Beth softens her own face in reply, wrinkling her nose, like this has all been a silly miscommunication. “I mean he does work here, of course,” _very occasionally_, Beth thinks a little dryly, “Just - - not right now. Um. Did he tell you he was going to be here?”

Huffing out a breath, Laura looks away, her long, thin hands finding her narrow hips.

“No, but he implied it,” she insists. “Jesus, this is just so _fucking _typical of him, I can’t even - - where is he?”

And god, Beth thinks, her chest tightening, scrambling to think of something to say, but all she can hear is the click of him hanging up on her, the sheer _lack_ of him, the lack of an answer, of any sort of response, and she swallows thickly, watching as Laura just - - just _knows_.

It’s almost instant then – the way Laura’s neck flushes crimson with anger, the way she scoffs, the way her fingers tighten on her hips as she shakes her head, and Beth’s tightening her own grip on Marcus’ suitcase strap, and she’s _floundering_, she knows she is. She flicks her hair back over her shoulder, puts her game face on before she can help it – the need to hide this, whatever it is – mess or miscommunication or embarrassment (definitely embarrassment), suddenly urgent.

“He’s working,” Beth tries quickly, throwing a disarming little laugh into her voice to just - - to disarm _this_. “That’s all. We’ve both been - - ”

But Laura just laughs, loud, cold, and it’s enough to make Marcus sit up on the couch, to look out at them through the open door of Beth’s office, and Laura quickly turns away from him, trying to collect herself, trying to soften her features before Marcus can see. She exhales sharply, dropping her hands to her hips again, blinking hard, and when Beth steps a little closer, wanting to - - to what, she has no idea, Laura looks away from her too, inhaling a wet breath, shaking her head.

“He’s working or he’s _working_?” Laura asks, and Beth blinks once, twice, three times, scrambling in her head for an answer that’s not a lie but that doesn’t betray Rio either, and god, she thinks, there isn’t an answer. There’s not an answer because Beth doesn’t _know_. After a moment, she settles on a simple:

“Yes.”

It’s enough to make Laura scoff again, shaking her head, and she almost looks teary, with anger or grief or what, Beth’s not sure, but suddenly she’s fumbling useless in the pockets of her slacks for a tissue, for anything she can offer the other woman that’s remotely helpful or comforting.

“And you’re just - -” Laura starts, and Beth looks up at her, the other woman’s gaze suddenly steady, fixed on Beth, and it’s almost - - not judgemental, but not _not _judgemental either, and before Beth can work out exactly what that means, Laura shakes her head, exhales sharply, looks back at Beth.

“If he even bothers coming home tonight, he doesn’t go near Marcus.”

Beth pauses, her hands freezing in their search for a tissue.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t bullshit me, I’ve _been _you,” Laura hisses, and her chest is flushed now too, and heaving, with anger, pain, history, and Beth doesn’t know what to do with _any_ of it. She just feels - - she has no idea what she feels. “He can do whatever the fuck he wants, but he’s not putting that shit on Marcus, okay? So if he tries to slither in through the backdoor tonight –”

“Ri - - Christopher doesn’t _slither_ \- -”

Laura rolls her eyes.

“Please,” she says, sneering, but Beth keeps talking, because at least this much she knows, at least this is something she _really _knows, the one solid thing she’ll be forever sure of in all the shifting sands of him.

“He would _never_ do anything to hurt Marcus,” Beth insists, almost breathless with anger and defensiveness and just - - _all of it_, and at least it seems to take the wind out of Laura’s sails. She sags, looking away, swiping furiously at her face.

The sounds of the dealership seem to envelope them suddenly – the slick heave of the sliding doors, the chatter of children, the light tones of sale pitches, of couples bickering over makes and models. The air conditioning prickles at the back of Beth’s neck, but she barely feels it. She just feels - - warm mostly. A little too warm. A little too much.

“I know that,” Laura says, and Beth looks back at her. “I know he would never - - not deliberately. But you know what Chris is like. You know what he gets himself involved with. He just - -”

She stops herself, rocks her jaw, closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, there’s something in them that Beth can’t quite name.

“He’s selfish,” Laura tells her. “Take it from someone who knows. Not in every way. He can be real generous in some, but - - He’ll always do him. He’ll always do whatever the fuck he wants, in whatever _way _he wants, and god forbid he think about how the choices he makes affects other people. I mean - - Christ, half the time he doesn’t even tell you what choices he’s _made_, right?”

And Beth just - - stares at her, the click of Rio hanging up on her echoing again and again and again in her head. She stays dead still on the spot, her mask carefully in place, pushing every emotion – new blossoms and deep roots – as far down as she can manage, and Laura just - - _sighs_.

“I don’t know what you know about his shit, okay,” Laura tells her, looking back out across the dealership floor, her fingers twitching, as if she’s antsy for a cigarette. “All I can tell you is don’t make a habit of scrapin’ his beat-up ass off your doorstep. He wants a nurse, he can go get his sister, and don’t even think about letting him expose Marcus to that shit.”

Carmen’s not a nurse, Beth thinks, almost absently. She’s a surgeon, and Beth almost opens her mouth to say it - - like that’s the point in all of this, when Laura cusses again, having clocked the time.

“I gotta go,” she says, and then, she avoids eye contact, adding, “Thanks again. I’m just going to say goodbye to Marcus. I’ll text you and Chris the details about his playdate tomorrow.”

Beth nods, shifting her swollen feet between her shoes, and she watches as Laura strides towards the office, Marcus watching from inside, his book forgotten in his lap, and god - - was he watching them the whole time? Did he hear? Is he - -

“Okay, question,” Annie says loudly, and Beth startles, spinning around to see Annie striding across the foyer towards her. “Does _fuel me up _sound too much like _feel me up_, because I just said it out there – while just, like, _completely_ locking you in a sale, dear sister, by the way, so please remember that when you’re considering cash bonuses at the end of this weekend. Or car bonuses, I will happily take something off your hands – and I swear to god this guy tried to like, stroke my leg? That’s weird right? I mean - - ”

And then she just stops dead. Stops talking, stops walking, still a few steps away from Beth, her forehead suddenly creasing, and there must be a look on Beth’s face because suddenly Annie’s asking:

“Are you okay?”

Nodding sharply, Beth clutches Marcus’ bag to her, grateful almost to have the weight of it against her chest, to have the familiarity of Annie’s tone in her ear.

“Is that Marcus? And his mom? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, Laura just had a work thing, had to drop Marcus a week early.”

Her voice sounds small, even to her, and it’s enough to make Annie step a little closer, to stand beside her, to follow her gaze into the office, watching as Laura says goodbye to Marcus with a hug.

“Oh,” Annie says, before adding tentatively: “Bad timing.”

Beth nods, shuffles, wets her lips. She tries to pull herself together.

“I just have a couple of things to wrap up, um. Would you mind looking after Marcus when Laura goes?”

“Mind watching the cherub? ‘Course not,” Annie says lightly. “I mean, I thought the bar for perfect kids couldn’t be raised above Ben, but Marcus gives me new standards to hold my son to. Which Ben loves, of course. That kid takes impossible standards as like, a personal challenge.”

She adopts a voice.

“_No, I’m the best kid in the world_,” Annie jokes. “_No! I am!_”

Beth huffs out a breath, watching Laura kiss Marcus’ cheek, sees her mouth move, saying something to him.

“He didn’t get that from me, thank god. Must be from Greg. I don’t hold myself to anyone’s standards, I mean, I blame you for that though. Talk about impossible standards. I’m sorry, B, I just won’t cut food into fun shapes. It’s already a fun shape. Some would say the best shape. Food shaped.”

Beth nods aimlessly as Annie babbles, watching as Laura finally sucks in a breath, stepping out of Beth’s office, nodding an awkward goodbye before leaving. She can feel Annie’s eyes on her as she watches Laura head out the door, but she doesn’t really pay her any mind until Annie jabs her in the ribs with her elbow. Beth makes a noise of discomfort, glancing back at her sister.

“Hey, you sure you okay? Usually you’ve lectured me about twelve times by now on how motherhood isn’t a competition and that there’s no such thing as food shapes.”

“I’m fine,” Beth says quickly, adjusting her grip on Marcus’ bag. “And yes, both those things.”

It’s enough to make Annie nod, but she’s still got that look on her face – the one where she’s desperately trying to read Beth, trying to _get it_, and Beth just - - shakes her head. Paints on a grin.

“Sorry, weird day.”

Annie hums in agreement, forehead still furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” she says. “You wanna talk abo - -”

“No,” Beth says, cutting her off, because _god, no_, but at Annie’s look, she adds: “Not yet. There’s just too much to do still to close off the sale. Could you - -”

She gestures to the office, to where Marcus is fiddling with the pages on his book now, deep in thought, and Annie doesn’t even say anything else, just reaches over to squeeze Beth’s arm, before striding over towards the office. 

“Um, is that my favourite step-nephew in the world?”

“Annie!” Marcus cheers, and Beth watches as Marcus practically launches himself off the couch towards her, throwing himself into her arms, and Annie hugs him, quick and tight, before lifting his head to look at her.

“Oh my god, stop looking at me, you’re too handsome.”

She pushes his face back into her belly, Marcus giggling, before she says:

“No, wait, it’s worse not looking at you.”

She tugs his head back to look at her, and Annie fake staggers backwards, almost collapsing onto the floor.

“Ahhhh! I was wrong! It’s true, looking at your beautiful face is the real curse. I don’t think I’ll ever see a kid as handsome ever again, you’ve _blinded _me, _sir_.”

Marcus is cackling as he tumbles into Annie’s lap on the floor, clambering up over her as she bends her limbs at weird angles, feigning death. When she speaks, her voice is shaky, warbly, and Beth breathes out a laugh.

“Sir Marcus, the only cure for how you’ve _totally _destroyed _me_ – your favourite aunt in the entire universe, is to help me on a quest.”

“A quest?” Marcus asks, his eyes wide, and Annie nods, holding out her hand for Marcus to pull her up.

“Yes, only the bravest knights can embark on this quest. The quest of sales, where the demon we must slay is the customer’s terrible personality and bad attitude, so we can get to the treasure - - their wallet.”

“That’s just work,” Marcus says, wrinkling his nose, but he’s still laughing as Annie mock gasps, springing to her feet, leading him out of Beth’s office across the dealership floor.

“All quests are work, Sir Marcus,” Annie says, voice weighted, faux profound. “But not all work is a quest.”

Marcus _oooos_ appropriately, and Annie turns back to look at Beth, her playful mask immediately shifting into one of concern again. Beth tries her best to smile at her, mouths a _thank you_, and Annie nods, looking back at Marcus and disappearing into the fray of people outside.

*

The water is cold as Beth splashes it on her face, as it drips down her neck, pearls at the collar of her blazer. Stepping back a little, she looks at herself in the mirror, blots the water off her face with a tissue, touches up her make-up.

Thing is, she doesn’t even know what to feel first. How to feel about any of it at all, still prickly with frustration at his dishonesty, at him hanging up on her, leaving her to lie on his behalf to the mother of his child, and just - - god, Beth doesn’t even begin to know how to unpack that conversation with Laura.

Doesn’t know how to even wade through the sinking sands of what it is she’d said.

_Stupid_, Beth thinks. She knew they had a history – god, they have _Marcus _together, they were a real family once, not some - - not some stitched together thing like she and Rio are. Laura’s done this before, she knows what she’s talking about, knew exactly what Beth was saying even when she wasn’t saying anything, because Laura knows Rio.

Laura’s voice rings in her ears:

_Don’t bullshit me, I’ve _been_ you_.

And then - - it’s not Rio’s voice, but the click of the phone again, him hanging up on her, refusing to talk to her, and - -

Beth breathes out a shaky breath, looks at herself again in the mirror.

She grabs her phone off the sink, calling his number, twisting her arm around her waist, clenching her eyes shut when she gets his message bank.

“A week?” she breathes, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “Marcus is staying an extra week? I don’t mind, of course I don’t, but why didn’t you just - - You could’ve _told me_.”

She exhales again, blinking her eyes back open, catching a glimpse of her reflection again – of her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, her wobbly lip, and god – she thinks. Was Laura like this?

Beth twists away from the mirror, closing her eyes, because she really is pathetic if she’s thinking like that, and just - - she opens her mouth to say something, _anything_, but she hangs up instead.

*

“And then Annie said he was a bridge troll,” Marcus says, breathless with excitement at his story, as Beth fumbles with his suitcase, her purse, binder, and the lock on the front door. “Because only trolls who lived in the dark ages would say they wouldn’t buy a car from a girl, and I think she thought the guy couldn’t hear, but he could, coz then he came back, and he was all red and sweaty and angry and stuff, and then he really _did _look like a troll.”

Beth hums, pressing her finger a little firmer against the security pad, trying to get it to read her fingerprint, but she can’t quite get the angle right while she’s trying to balance her armfuls of _stuff_. She grunts a little, annoyed, wishing she’d remembered to leave the porch light on before she’d left home this morning, but the thought had slipped her mind.

“He does sound like he was being really rude,” she says, adjusting her grip on her purse to try and free up one of her hands a bit more. “But Annie was rude too when she called him a troll. She should’ve been the better person and risen above it.”

Marcus is quiet for a minute, the faint evening light dusting his features, and he watches Beth fumble her way to get them into the house, before saying:

“My daddy says when someone does the wrong thing, you gotta call them out on it, otherwise you’re cuh - - coh - - composite.”

Beth pauses, glancing back at him, taking in the neat authority of his expression, always so sure that there is nobody more _right _than his dad, and god, half the time Beth could tell her kids the sky was blue and they would argue with her about it. Still, composite can’t be right - - she thinks for a minute and then - - oh.

Right.

“Complicit,” she corrects. “Otherwise you’re complicit, not, ah - - ”

She has to bite back a cuss when the security light flashes red again, and she drops her purse on the doorstep – lipsticks, tampons and coins spilling out onto the front porch, rolling down the front steps. Beth’s about to crouch down to pick it all up when her phone buzzes in the back pocket of her slacks, and she has to drop everything to get it as Marcus scurries around her to pick up her escaping quarters.

She’s hoping for Rio, but it’s only a push notification from the security app, and Beth groans, watching as it loads up the video footage to her cell, showing her and Marcus on the doorstep along with the notification that somebody failed access, and just - - god, Rio will have gotten it too, she thinks, feeling her chest flush despite herself. Maybe he won’t watch it, will cut her humiliation at not even being able to get herself and his son into their house off at the legs by pretending he didn’t see it and just - - she hates this stupid security system. Hates how happy Rio is with it. Hates that if she ‘forgets’ to arm it, Rio will just do it remotely, and then snark at her all night about her lack of attention to detail, and - -

“We could use my finger,” Marcus says, dropping Beth’s things back into her purse and holding up his hand, surging onto his tiptoes, and Beth finds herself nodding, stepping back to watch this seven year old turn the key, punch in the pin and scan his fingerprint with the sort of practiced ease that Beth kind of hates.

Still, she can’t help her sigh of relief when the light at the corner finally flashes green and she hears the door unlock. She pushes it open, and lets Marcus trundle in before her, watching as he immediately kicks off his shoes and darts up the stairs, and she sees it – the way he pingpongs from his bedroom to Jane’s – as if to make sure she’s _actually _not there, and okay, Beth thinks, huffing out a slightly amused breath. It’s cute.

Toeing off her own shoes, she briefly flexes her aching feet before dumping the binder from work onto the hall buffet and heading down towards the kitchen. She glances out the back window, sees Buddy sniffing at the door, and calls up to Marcus.

“You wanna feed Buddy, honey?”

Marcus’ _yes_ is loud, resounding, and he storms down the stairs like he’s heading to a battleline, and Beth makes quick work of grabbing the can out of the pantry, opening it, and instructing Marcus on how much dog food to scoop out. As he makes studious work of that, Beth tries to figure out their own dinner.

It’s not exactly late – but still, it’s not early enough for her to throw on anything that’ll take much more than half an hour, and that rules out a lot of the dishes in her head. She checks her phone – for a recipe, maybe, she tells herself, not to see if Rio’s responded to any of her messages. He hadn’t to the voicemail she’d left at 4, the one at 5, nor to the one at 6.40 when she’d told him her and Marcus were leaving the office to head home, and despite herself, she still loads up the messenger app.

_Home safe, _she types. _Starting on a late dinner. You think you might be home soon?_

She almost deletes it, but then she just - - sends it, before she can think much more of it, ignoring the weird clench in her belly as she drops her phone back to the counter, watching as Marcus scoots off the stool and takes Buddy his dinner. When he slips back into the kitchen, Beth claps her hands together.

“Okay, what do you feel like for dinner?”

Marcus brightens instantly. 

“Can you make that thing - - the crunchy one with the cheese and the greens?”

“The spanakopita?” Beth asks, frowning. “Oh, honey, that’ll take a few hours. I could make it tomorrow though maybe?”

Pouting at the compromise, Marcus nods still, clambering back up onto the stool, swinging his little legs out, as Beth tugs open the fridge, looking across the shelves for anything that might be quick and easy and tasty, but she hasn’t had a chance to go to the grocery store this week, not with the sale, not with all the extra work, and it’s looking bare to say the least. She bites the inside of her cheek.

“You wanna get take-out?” she asks after a second, and Marcus bounces excitedly in his seat.

“Yeah!” he hums, delighted, before promptly pausing. He frowns. “But I wanna make something too though.”

“Well,” Beth replies, moving easily over to the pantry and checking for ingredients. “We could order dinner and make dessert?”

“Yeah!” Marcus says again, throwing his arms up, delighted. “Cookies?”

“Cookies,” Beth agrees, pulling out the flour, sugar, baking soda. “Chocolate chip?”

Marcus nods and Beth pulls those out too.

They end up ordering burgers and fries from somewhere totally foul that Rio would never usually let either of them touch (his horror that any of them would ever subject themselves to anything less than great food still makes her grin, even, despite herself, right now), and they start on the cookies while they wait for the delivery.

The batter is easy enough, one Beth can make by memory alone, and Marcus seems to love that in a way that always surprises Beth. Like it’s something exciting and special that she can do, something magic, instead of the result of having done something so many times it operates like a sort of mundane muscle memory. Still, it doesn’t feel so mundane, not with the way Marcus grins at her as she does it.

“Daddy loves chocolate chip cookies best,” Marcus tells her conspiratorially after Beth’s shown him how to sift the flour. “He says he likes the fanciest flavours, and he does, but I know chocolate chip is his real favourite.”

“Well, chocolate chip cookies are a classic,” Beth says. “And I think your daddy appreciates the classics.”

Marcus hums in agreement, continuing to work the sifter, the sound metallic in Beth’s ears, as she grabs the eggs from the fridge.

“Is daddy gonna work all night?”

Beth looks over at him, and honestly, she’s surprised – how long it took this to come up, but then - - maybe she shouldn’t be. She has no idea what Laura told Marcus after all, no idea what she whispered to him as she left, and the thought makes her swallow thickly, shift her weight on the spot, and just - - god, don’t be _stupid_, she thinks.

“Maybe,” she says, keeping her tone light. “He’s got a lot on his plate at the moment, so we’ll just have to wait and see what time he finishes up.”

Marcus frowns at this, and Beth tries to keep her smile in place as she cracks a couple of eggs into the bowl Marcus is sifting the flour into, resisting the urge to grab her phone again. She’d have heard if he’d called her back, she reminds herself. She’d have heard if he’d texted. She huffs, cracks another egg.

“Is he gonna get hurt?”

Beth fumbles with the egg, dropping shell into the batter, and she just stares at Marcus for a moment, her mouth dry, her eyes wide.

There’s flour on his cheek – a dusting of it like new snow, and Beth watches as Marcus dips a finger into the cookie batter, pulling out the bit of shell, wiping it onto his shirt, leaving a smear of egg yolk there. 

“No, of course not,” Beth says once she finds her words, her urge to bury Marcus’ worries sparking like a match in her belly, and she wants to tell him he never will, that his daddy’s doing something boring, that the worst he’ll get is a papercut, but - -

But that would be a lie.

She doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“He does sometimes,” Marcus tells her, like she doesn’t know already. “He gets lots of bruises and sores and one time his arm got broked, and all his fingers too, but I was really little then, and mommy made him go away for a while. I don’t like it when he gets hurt.”

“Of course not,” Beth says, grabbing the last egg and biting her lip. “I don’t think anybody likes to see people they care about hurt.”

“He _always_ goes away when he gets hurt,” Marcus continues, still sifting in the flour, like Beth hadn’t spoken at all. “And then I never get to see him.”

Beth just stares at him again, at a loss of what to say, scrambling for words – any – in her head, but Marcus just finishes sifting, starts stirring, and says:

“Does Annie like chocolate chip cookies?”

“She loves chocolate chip cookies,” Beth says, and Marcus nods.

“We should make some cookies for her then too.”

Beth nods, exhales, cracks the egg.

*

Soapy water hits her chest when Marcus plunges one of Danny’s old action figures into the tub, swimming the guy around his legs, wailing something fierce.

“Oh no! He’s drowning!” Marcus says, and Beth echoes the sentiment, lurching across the bathroom tiles to grab the little dingy boat from the basket of toys in the kids’ bathroom, floating it over to him. She puts on a deep, macho voice as she says:

“It’s me, the Coast Guard! Can I help?”

“Yessss,” Marcus hisses, waving his arms about, grabbing the boat from Beth’s hand and sailing it across the bathwater, making the guy swim away, and Beth grins, watching Marcus play. Her hand finds the back of her neck, massaging out the knot there, which is - - kind of pointless. She thinks her entire back is a mess of knots right now, and she sinks, exhausted, back onto her heels.

“Okay, I need to clean up a little,” she tells him. “You gonna be okay in here for a minute?”

Marcus nods, happily, and Beth lumbers up to her feet, resisting the urge to groan at the ache in her legs already, and stepping out of the bathroom. She should probably change. Should put on something dry, but then again, she figures she’ll shower soon anyway. Instead, she makes quick work of cleaning up the kitchen, keeping an ear out to Marcus’ frantic game upstairs in the tub as she loads up the dishwasher and checks on the cookies and just - -

She glances at her phone on the counter, biting the inside of her cheek, and in the end she just thinks - - screw it. She grabs it, dialling Rio’s number, closing her eyes when it goes straight to voicemail again, her stomach twisting. It takes her a moment to say anything when the line beeps for her message, the tight cord of - - of what, in her, she doesn’t know, pulling again, and she wants to ask him where he is, she wants to ask him if he’s okay, she wants to ask him - - _tell him _\- - to come home, but in the end she just - - talks. 

“We got take out,” she says quietly. “You’d hate what we ordered. It was burgers. I mean, I know you like burgers, but these weren’t those gourmet ones from that diner you like, these were like - - _really _greasy. Like the paper bag they delivered them in was all stained, and even after I got us plates, after we finished, there was like - - this sheen of grease on the porcelain. It was kind of gross,” she says, laughing softly, wrinkling her nose at the thought. “But I’m not going to lie. I think I could’ve eaten a whole other one. You didn’t reply to my message, so I didn’t save you any. You’ll have to pick up your own big, ugly burger, I guess.”

She pauses, shifting her weight, hand tightening and then loosening on her cell. She swallows thickly.

“Just washing up Marcus now. Um, then we might watch a movie before bed? Okay. I - -”

The phone beeps – the message cut off, and right, Beth thinks, exhaling a wobbling breath.

Right.

*

Marcus taps his chin.

“That one,” he decides, pointing to _Minions_, and Beth would rather the sweet release of death, honestly, and she hopes that doesn’t come across too much in her expression, when Marcus suddenly points to a different one. “What’s that?”

Beth hums, bringing up the movie description. She’d managed a quick shower after Marcus was out of the tub and into his pyjamas, and slipped too easily into her own – a neat set with a soft cream floral print. She’d even managed to wash her hair, to get the day off her as best as she could, and at least she feels a little better as she flicks the Netflix menu off _Minions_ and onto the other movie, her eyes darting over the description. 

“It sounds like it’s about selkies,” Beth says, and Marcus looks up at her, his little face scrunched up in confusion, and Beth raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Do you know what a selkie is?”

Marcus shakes his head, and Beth hums a little, leaning over a bit in the couch, scooting down into the blanket her and Marcus have thrown across them.

“Selkies are my _favourite _magical creature,” Beth tells him, and Marcus raises an eyebrow at that, lips twisting in amusement, and just - - it’s almost overwhelming, almost crippling, how much he looks like his father in the moment of it all. Beth has to catch her breath.

“More than fairies?”

“Yup,” she says, and then suddenly Marcus giggles.

“More than Annie’s _troll_?”

“Definitely more than that one,” Beth says, scrunching up her nose, and Marcus giggles, wriggling closer to her, and Beth feels something in her loosen at the warmth of him, the ease with which he leans against her.

“Selkies are people who can turn into seals.”

It’s enough to make Marcus laugh, both surprised and delighted, like the thought had never even occurred to him before, and Beth suddenly bounds up to her feet, pulling the blanket with her, twisting it up around her.

“See, they wear their seal skins like this,” she says, holding the blanket close. “Like a big old coat, and when they become people, they just take it off, just like this.”

She drops the blanket, watches Marcus watch her, his eyes big and round, fascinated, even as Beth scrambles to get the blanket again.

“And then when they’re ready, they put on their coat, and go for a swim, and then they turn into seals.”

“Shapeshifters!” Marcus says, eyes brightening, and Beth nods, dropping back to the couch beside Marcus again and snuggling them up beneath the blanket. “I like shapeshifters, but I like elves the best. Not like - - not dumb Christmas ones, the real ones, like Legolas.”

She has to bite back a laugh at the concept of Legolas being a ‘real one’, but she doesn’t bother with her smile, turning it around on Marcus as he wriggles a little on the couch beside her.

“Are you old enough to watch Lord of the Rings?” she asks, because she’s sure Rio wouldn’t have shown it to him – not given the fact he didn’t have a TV before he moved in here, and something tells her Laura wouldn’t have let him either, which means it was probably at a sleepover. Like he’s read her mind, Marcus giggles, and Beth raises an eyebrow, reaching over to brush his hair off his face.

“Elves are definitely cool though,” she says, instead of opening that can of worms, and Marcus smiles, nodding.

“Selkies sound cool too. I wish I had a coat like that.”

“Well, there are lots of stories where people steal the selkie’s seal coat,” Beth says, and god, she’d forgotten all these stories. She’d gone through a big fairytale phase as a girl, and again with Annie, but her own kids had preferred the staples – _Rapunzel _and _The Little Mermaid_ – Disneyfied of course, and all her stories of selkies and will-o’-the-wisps had been sort of retired. “And then the selkie can’t go back to the sea, and they’re stuck on land. The person who stole it often thinks it will make _them _a selkie, but it never works.”

“Because they’re not one,” Marcus says, tone already authoritative, and Beth grins, despite herself.

“Exactly. Sometimes people take it accidentally though. Sometimes in stories they’re cold, and seal skins are really warm, and they just want to be warm too.”

Marcus nods, like he understands, and then Beth adds:

“And sometimes somebody just loves that selkie too much, and doesn’t want them to go back into the sea. They just want them to stay with them, forever and ever, so they hide the coat, keep it a secret.”

It’s the most common myth after all, the one Beth had read over and over, of men who loved the selkies too much, who just wanted to be with them, and as a girl, Beth had found it romantic, but now - - well. She purses her lips, and Marcus looks at her.

“That’s not fair,” he tells her, and Beth glances down at him, surprised. 

“Isn’t it?”

“You just said – the coat doesn’t make them a selkie, they just are one. If wearing the coat doesn’t _make _you a selkie, then the selkies are selkies when they’re not wearing their coats too. And you can’t make someone something they’re not.”

He says it all with such certainty, such - - almost _boldness_, like this is a simple, universal truth, and Beth just - - her mouth is too dry, and it almost hurts, when she swallows. 

“No,” she says after a minute. “You can’t, can you?”

Marcus shakes his head, and Beth reaches over, running her hand back through his hair again, and he looks about as tired as Beth feels, but still.

When he asks if they can watch the movie, she presses play.

*

There’s this moment in the movie, where the father, terrified of losing his daughter to the sea like he did her mother, locks away her seal pelt and then throws it away, and the daughter doesn’t know what she’s lost, what’s been taken from her, but she fades away anyway, and Beth doesn’t know when she starts crying, but Marcus curls tighter against her side, clutching her hand, holding onto her.

“It’s okay, Miss Elizabeth,” he whispers. “They’ll get it back for her. I know they will.”

And Beth nods, smiles. She’s just tired, she tells him.

She’s just tired, she tells herself.

*

“Do you think maybe you left him at your mom’s?”

Marcus sucks in a wet breath, his face already puffy from tears, his voice wobbly and Beth’s own lip trembles. 

“Maybe,” he warbles, and Beth clenches her eyes shut, because god, she’s having flashbacks to Jane’s dubby all over again, only Otis isn’t a blanket – he’s a fat, stuffed polar bear about half the size of Buddy, and at least Beth can say losing him isn’t her fault. Still, she just wants to sleep, wants today to be _over_, wants Marcus happy and sweet in his bed so that she can lie (inevitably) awake in hers. She sighs, crawling her exhausted body across the floor back over to Marcus’ suitcase, emptying it all over again, like there’s any chance she could’ve missed it.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if the movie hadn’t been so _sad_, and just - - god, she really needs to start vetting these things before she plants the kids in front of them. Beth had at least finished crying by the end, but Marcus had started – crying first for his daddy, and when that hadn’t made Rio materialise at their door, he’d wept for Otis instead.

And here they are, Beth thinks, opening up his backpack like the thing would possibly even fit in there, and just - - god, tonight has been too much.

“If he’s at mommy’s, we could go back and get him?” Marcus asks hopefully from his bed, and Beth looks up at him, her shoulders sagging, and maybe, she thinks, but she doesn’t have a key, and maybe she could break in but god, she can’t imagine anything worse than breaking into her boyfriend’s exes place, and just - - Beth sighs.

“I don’t have a key, honey, and your mom’s in New York now, and your dad is - - ”

Beth exhales, too exhausted to think of the lie, and Marcus’ lower lip wobbles all over again as he folds back into his bed, curling up into a ball, facing the wall, and Beth is just - - so tired, so sore and she just - -

“I’ll give your dad a call,” she says. “Maybe he can pick Otis up on his way home.”

But Marcus doesn’t turn around, keeps swiping at his face, hiding his tears from her even as she sees his shoulders shake. Her forehead creases, and she has to look away, has to stop the urgent, tired, frustrated tears spilling from her own. Clambering to her aching feet, she pulls her cell from her pocket, stepping quietly out of the room.

There’s still nothing from Rio, not a text or a call, she sucks in a wet breath, blinking furiously before she dials his number, barely even flinching when she gets his message bank again.

“Hey, sorry to call again,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It looks like Marcus left Otis at Laura’s. Could you maybe - - could you maybe go and get him? On your way back? If you’re even coming back. Can you just - - could you even text me? Just - - let me know you’re alive? I - - ”

The words dry in her mouth, leave her throat scratchy, raw, and she could throw her phone against the wall, stomp on it, break it, so that he can’t call her either, because - - because - -

“Whatever,” she says, kicking at the carpet with her bare foot. “I’ll see you whenever you decide you want to see me, I guess.”

She ends the call, exhaling, turning back to Marcus’ room, bracing herself for the tears, but - - but he’s quiet, and when she tiptoes over to the bed, he’s fast asleep, his cheeks tear streaked, clutching the blanket Beth had wrapped them up in on the couch, her selkie coat, and Beth frowns, grabbing the edge of it to tuck him in.

*

Flour.

Salt.

Butter.

Water.

She’s almost too quick, building the puff pastry dough, moulding it into a ball before flattening it into a disk. She wraps it, puts it in the freezer, sets the timer for twenty minutes and pours herself a drink.

She has the onions, the garlic, fetta. There’s parsley in the herb garden that she knows Marcus will love to harvest, but she never got around to planting the dill, so she’ll need to go to the grocery store in the morning. Pick that up and enough spinach too, after all the spanakopita needs a lot of it, more than she ever remembers. Last time, she’d had to send Rio out to pick up more, and he’d come back with so much she’d made a spinach and pine nut pull-apart bread with it too, and he’d just - - done that face she loves, the one where he furrows his forehead, purses his lips, almost serious, his long fingers coming back to tear off another bit of the bread, make a noise she usually only got out of him in bed, and - -

She checks her phone.

God, she needs to pull herself together.

Needs to - -

She doesn’t know.

Maybe call Ruby. Annie.

No.

Exhaling, Beth wipes her hands down on her apron, tries to ignore the twist in her belly, tries to forget about Laura’s words, tries to forget the sound of his voice, tries to forget Marcus’ question:

_Will he get hurt?_

She watches the clock countdown.

*

So she doesn’t exactly sleep, but maybe she snatches minutes, when the exhaustion of the day, of the last two weeks finally collapses in her mind. When the worry of him - - _for _him twists back into anger – at him, at herself, when that anger settles like a dust cloth on every other shifting thought in her head, in her belly, in her - -

Her phone vibrates.

Beth sits up quickly, grabbing her phone off her bedside table, only - - only it’s not a text.

It’s a notification from the security system.

_Failed access attempt_.

Beth blinks, opens her mouth, wets her lips, before clicking on it, waiting for the video feed to load, something close to fear snaking around her throat, and when it does, there’s nobody there. Nobody on the doorstep, nobody around the side of the house. She clicks through the feed, to the other cameras, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary, and it must be glitching, she thinks, must be on the fritz, and at least that sparks annoyance all over again.

Is this what half a million dollars gets you?

She huffs, but stores the thought away to say to Rio, because honestly - -

A floorboard creaks.

Beth looks up at her wide-open bedroom door and just - - it’s probably Marcus, she tells herself. Oh god, _Marcus_.

She swallows thickly, slipping quietly out of bed, her bare feet hitting the carpet as she looks around the room for anything she might be able to take with her, anything that’s going to make her feel like she’s not completely defenceless. Rio’s tennis rackets are in the cupboard downstairs, and so’s Kenny’s hockey stick. Maybe she could take her lamp? But then it’s too heavy, and she’s more likely to do damage to herself than an intruder, and just - - god, she doesn’t have _time _for this. She walks quietly over to her closet, grabs the stiletto with the pointiest heel she can find, clutching the width of the shoe like a vice as she steps out into the hall.

And the hall’s empty at least, Beth thinks, eyes darting around, and why does this house have so many bedrooms? All the doors are open, there are so many places somebody could _be_, but - - Marcus.

She’s got to get to Marcus.

Breathing sharply, Beth tiptoes down the hall as quickly as she can, finally getting to Marcus’ door, flinging it open, and terror grips her like a vice. There’s a _man _over his bed, and Beth’s gasping, stepping forwards quickly, shoe raised, only - -

The man is holding an enormous stuffed bear.

An enormous stuffed _Otis_.

“You know I got a spare gun in the closet, right?”

And - - no, actually, she didn’t know that. Still, she drops her arm holding the shoe, watching Rio’s back shift as he gently lifts the still-sleeping Marcus’ arm, tucking Otis in beneath it. He rests back a little, still not looking back at her, his gaze trained down on his son, and Beth suddenly feels - - she doesn’t know how she feels.

Relieved, happy even, a little like she’s intruding, angry at him, at herself, but mostly she just feels like she can breathe again. 

“He was under his bed at Laura’s place,” Rio rasps quietly. “I still got a spare key.”

He sounds - - different. Strange. Like she’s listening to him through a radio, and before she can help herself, she says:

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” and that’s strange too, the brief flicker of happiness that sparks in her belly at his huffed-out laugh. He turns back to look at her, eyes latching onto the shoe in her hand, amusement crossing his face, which Beth would probably be offended by if her chest didn’t lurch at the sight of him.

He’s bleeding.

His eyebrow split open, blood trickling from the skin there, down his temple. It looks like he’s swiped it back, once, twice, maybe three times, the blood smeared and dried, caking in his hair. There’s a deep bruise at his jaw, a deep, wide cut at his lip, like he was punched by somebody wearing a ring, and Beth’s gaze travels down him, only to have to swallow a gasp at the blood soaking through his shirt.

He watches her watch him, then says:

“Not all of its mine,” like it’s supposed to make her feel any better about it, and she hates that it _does_, because god, it’s selfish. She doesn’t want any of it to be his. It can all be the other guy’s. She _wants _it to be. She can’t summon the words to say anything – barely knows what to, and Rio suddenly jerks his head away from her, looking back at Marcus, and Beth exhales a breath she didn’t know she was holding to have his wounds out of sight again, however briefly.

“I won’t be long,” he says, eyes still on Marcus. “Just droppin’ Otis off, yeah?”

And - - what? Beth blinks, steps closer before she can help herself. 

“Where are you going?” she asks, and Rio doesn’t pull his eyes away from Marcus, and Beth just - - stops. A foot or so away from him, and here she can see the blood’s thickest at the arm of his shirt, darkening the navy fabric, and it still looks wet, like maybe it’s still bleeding.

“Got a hotel.”

Beth tears her gaze away from his arm at that, looks up at him, watches him watch Marcus, and god, his jaw is already swelling.

“Why?”

And that’s enough to make him look back at her. Beth wets her lips, feels herself tremble, steps forward again, and when she touches his arm he flinches back like he’s been burned.

“Can I have a look at it? Please? I need to see you in the light.”

*

She gets him back to their en suite, flicking on the light and practically running over to the cabinet below the sink, pulling out the first aid kit, while Rio lingers in the doorway, watching her, and it’s strange, she thinks. How something in his hesitation, in her look, reminds her of that day in her kitchen two years ago, the way he’d stayed back, watching her open her fridge, offer him something to eat, only that’s not what they’re doing now. It’s not who they are anymore.

She pulls out what she needs, cursing herself a little for not having a better kit, adding it to the top of the to-do list in her head as she pulls out gauze, a bandage, some antibiotic cream too, before grabbing a washcloth off the sink and turning back around to look at him.

It is worse in the light, of course it is, the bruises darker, the cuts still weeping, the buttons missing from the top of his shirt which is so unusual Beth’s mind reels – did somebody rip them? Did he? There’s a sharp bruise there at his neck – almost a perfect line of purple, and god, did someone grab his collar, yank him? Beth feels her heart lurch all over again, her throat close, like somebody’s stepping on it, and she swallows hard, gestures for Rio to sit down on the edge of the bathtub.

And then he just sort of - - looks at her, rocks his jaw a little, like this is - - she’s got no idea, like he hates this, like he’s amused by it – by her, like he’d rather be at that hotel, but he unbuttons his shirt anyway, takes it off, sits on the edge of the tub, and she hates how relieved she is that his chest seems mostly okay. There are bruises on his ribs, and the cut on his arm is deep, but not as deep as she thought, and she sucks in a breath, grabbing the washcloth, wetting it lightly, and starting to make efficient work of cleaning the blood at his arm.

She wants to ask him what happened. Needs to, but god, she’s not sure she’s ready to hear it yet, not when she crouches down to grab the antibiotic cream and sees his split, bloodied knuckles too. He looks like he’s waiting for it though, waiting for an interrogation, and finally she opens her mouth, thinks she’s gonna say it, only what comes out is:

“Your son has a crush on my sister.”

It seems to take him by surprise as much as it takes her, because he barks on a laugh, the sound hoarse, gravelly, and he looks at her, gaze steady, almost careful.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, Beth looks into the wound on his arm, trying to work out if there’s anything in it, and when she sees nothing, pops the cap on the cream instead and dabs some onto it.

“He won’t stop talking about her. Even made extra cookies for her.”

She grabs the bandage off the floor, and she can’t quite look at him, like if she does this charade will be over. Like if she does, she’ll fold, she’ll ask him a real question, or she’ll cry, or she’ll - -

“Damn, that’s serious.”

She makes efficient work of wrapping his arm, clipping the bandage until it’s sealed as best as she can manage, before grabbing the washcloth again. She gets to her feet, rinses the blood out in the sink, and then again for good measure.

“They do say the way to the heart is through the stomach,” she says, crouching back down in front of him, folding the damp washcloth until it fits easily into her hand.

“Ain’t that the way to a man’s heart?”

Beth’s eyes fix on the bruise on his neck, and she almost wants to touch it, almost wants to - -

She swallows.

“Yes, I think you’re right. I think it would work on Annie though, to be honest.”

“Maybe,” Rio drawls. “I seen her eat a pop tart she dropped on the floor though, so I ain’t sure it’s much about quality with her.”

Beth runs the washcloth up his neck, gently wiping away any flecks of blood. There are no cuts on his neck, so it must have dripped down from his lip, his temple.

If it’s even his.

Beth tightens her grip on the washcloth.

“I’m weirdly relieved that’s the worst thing you’ve seen her eat,” she tells him, finally pushing the washcloth gently to his bleeding lip, letting it soak in the blood. She blinks and just - - she feels it before she even realises she’s crying – the tear gliding down her cheek. She exhales quickly, pushes her head down, wipes it on the shoulder of her pyjamas.

“Shit, me too,” Rio says quietly. “Relieved I didn’t have to see you eat those burgers too.”

And it’s enough to make Beth jerk her head up, to look at him, really look at him again, and as soon as she does it, she regrets it. The steadiness of his gaze, of his dark eyes, his matted lashes. Her chest clenches, because of course he listened to the messages. She knew that. He got Otis after all, didn’t he?

She swallows thickly, adjusting her grip on the washcloth.

“And I’m relieved I didn’t have to hear you complain about having to see us eat those burgers,” she tells him. “They were really good.”

“Bull.”

“I actually got the chicken one.”

And it’s a bad joke, but Rio still grins at her, enough the skin by his eyes crinkle. He huffs out a breath, and just she can’t help it then. She needs to touch him, to feel him, to just - - her fingers find his temple, her eyes fixed on them, on watching herself touch him, trailing against the dried blood there, dragging softly down his face, just reminding herself that he’s there, that he’s with her, that he’s hurt, but he’s _safe_, at least for now. Her hand flattens to cup his cheek, to feel his stubble against her skin, to just - - feel _him_.

“Why would you get a hotel? Why would you not come home?” she whispers, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, her thumb softly caressing his cheek. “Why would you not come back to our bed?”

And she knows she’s crying now, knows it from the way he looks at her, knows it from the way his own hand comes up to cup the back of hers against his face, hold it as he twists into her hand, brushing his lips against her palm, kissing her fingers, before pulling it away from his cheek and leaning forwards to just - - kiss _her_.

It’s so soft, and it shouldn’t be, Beth knows that, her eyelashes fluttering shut as she feels Rio’s hand come up to the back of her head, his fingers twisting in her hair. She can taste him – can taste the blood oozing from his lip against hers, can taste the faintest hint of gin, can just - - taste _him_, and it’s so sudden, or maybe it’s not sudden at all, maybe it’s always there, but she just - - she _needs _him. She crawls closer, between his legs, deepening the kiss, nipping at his lip, clutching at his shoulders, her fingers grazing where she knows the bruise on his neck is, and he hisses, and she presses harder there because she wants to. Because she feels _too much, _and she wants him to feel that too.

Suddenly she’s being shoved back onto the bathroom tiles and he’s on top of her, tearing off her pyjama pants, her panties, so fast, so hard, she gasps.

He grabs her by the back of her legs, dragging her down the tiles back towards him, and Beth’s just - - she can’t stop reaching for him, and god, it’s a relief when he crawls over her body and kisses her again. She keens, arching her body up against his, just - - needing him everywhere, needing _him_, and he breaks the kiss to bite her hard on her shoulder and his hand’s moving between them and then suddenly he’s thrusting into her.

She gasps again, because maybe she wasn’t quite wet enough, needed his fingers first, but then he’s fucking her roughly, erratically, all their small talk and all his quiet and all of Laura’s words suddenly shifted away to reveal just - - _him_, furious and wounded and hard and vulnerable and _hers_, and she digs her nails sharply into the back of his neck, clenching around him, rocking her hips to meet his thrusts, because he’s _here _and he’s hers and she can’t keep him safe, but she can keep _him_.

And maybe she’s said that aloud, maybe she’s mumbled it into the caked blood in his hair like a mantra, maybe he hears it, fucking her until her shirt rides up and the sweat on her back sticks her to the tiles, moves her roughly, burns at her back. She digs her heel into his ass, pulls him in deeper, and then he’s coming, biting her breast through her shirt as he does, hard enough she’s sure she’ll have teeth marks there, and she just smooths her hand at the back of his neck, feels the weight of him against her, feels his breath at her chest, just over her fast beating heart, and she just - -

Exhales.

“Come on,” she says, and she showers them both, washing the blood out of his hair, off his face, off where he’d accidentally smeared it on her neck while he lay kisses there, and he just - - lets her. Lets her soap his back, lets her scrub at his chest, wash his face, wash all of the grime and the blood and the awfulness of this day off him, and then watches her wash it off herself too, his head back against the tiles, his eyes half-lidded, tongue darting out to wet his lips when her fingers linger on the bite mark on her breast, and _oh_, Beth thinks, when he drops to his knees in front of her, lifting one of her legs to hook over his shoulder.

_Oh_.

*

“Who was it?”

“A couple of guys,” he tells her. “Turned.”

“Our guys?”

He nods, watching as she pulls the now-sodden bandage from his arm and rebandages it with a dry one. It really is deep, she thinks, already planning on calling Carmen in the morning, but at least this will keep it protected for now. They’re in their bed, still naked – all of Beth’s exhaustion finally catching up to her, and god, Rio hadn’t seemed much better by the time they stumbled out of the shower. He’d eaten her out until she could barely stand up anymore, the water pelting down on them, and then he’d fucked her again too, pressing her into the shower wall, slower this time, almost romantically, not almost, until he was all she could feel, see, think about, his name like a prayer on her tongue.

Clothes had seemed like an impossible task. Everything had, everything but this.

“They talked to the feds?” she asks, trying to keep the panic from her voice, but Rio shakes his head.

“Nuh, another gang. They all low-level pieces of shit though, tryna sell info to Cyg, hopin’ to flip their game, snake up the ranks. All for shit though. Fuckin’ morons didn’t really know nothin’ – they only ever been muscle and runners for me. Cyg worked out quick they had nothin’ he wanted to buy, so they tried to bullshit him, play like they had more, brought ‘em back to one of our locations, and then I had to deal with his guys and take care o’ ours, and it got messy.”

And clearly, she thinks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she nods, grabbing the clip to finish off the bandage.

“Who’s Cyg?”

Rio breathes out a hoarse breath at that, glancing over at her again, and she can see him debating how much to tell her, see him warring with himself, and maybe she should’ve asked him the second they got in the shower, when he was still fuck-drunk and boneless. Still, Rio shakes his head as Beth finally drops her hands.

“Goes by Cygnus, like the fuckin’ constellation. He’s - - competition.”

“What type of competition?”

“Shit, we playin’ twenty questions?”

“Don’t usually get you talking this much,” she jokes, but there’s nothing behind it. A cool wisp of air coils through the bedroom door, and Beth shivers, thinks of getting her robe to cover her naked body, but she’s not sure her legs would carry her to it. She sits back instead, curling her arms around her waist.

“Should we be worried about him?”

“No,” Rio tells her sharply, but there’s something in his expression that tells her she should be. “Cyg ain’t know nothin’ about you, and nothin’ about the kids, and nothin’ about this house. And it’s gonna stay that way.”

“What happens if he does find out?”

“He ain’t gonna,” Rio snaps again, rolling enough off the bed to throw the sheets back and slide in. Beth watches him, opening her mouth to reply, when Rio cuts her off again. “He don’t even know about Marcus, and me and Cyg known each other since before me and Laura even had him, so. I got it handled.”

Beth considers this, watching Rio move his bruised body beneath the sheets, watching him cover himself, conceal himself, and she thinks of the selkie coat, but no. This is just him, she thinks. He’s just him when he’s with her.

“But we’re in business together,” she says quietly, and Rio clenches his eyes shut, annoyed, rubbing at his forehead.

“So?”

“So Laura was never in the business, you’ve told me that a million times, and plenty of people who work with us know we’re together. What’s to stop any of them from - -”

“Elizabeth.”

She stops, looks over at him, and he just stares at her for a moment, his face bruised, cut, his eyes dark, and just - - he looks so tired. He pushes the sheets down on her side of the bed, tilts his chin at it, and Beth sighs, rolling her eyes, but she still crawls up the bed to get in beside him. As soon as she’s lying down, he rolls her onto her side, facing away from him, and presses himself against her back. She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off.

“You empty the lot for me?”

She pauses.

“You know I did.”

“Good. Marcus okay?”

“Yes,” she says, pulling gently at the fine dark hair on his wrist at her waist. “He worries about you.”

Rio grunts, like he knows, his breath evening out at her neck, and she thinks he means it to say the conversation is done, and it certainly _isn’t_, Beth thinks, feeling that spark of annoyance in her gut, but at least - - maybe it can wait until tomorrow.

“Me,” he tells her suddenly, and Beth blinks, twisting to try and look back at him, but he tightens her grip so that all she can do is crane her neck back.

“What?”

“You asked what’s to stop anyone from talkin’,” he grumbles. “It’s me. My department. I know how to keep you too.”

Beth turns her neck back around, tilts her head down, and she looks at his hands around her waist, at his bruised and broken knuckles, and she doesn’t know how she feels – happy, maybe, warm, held, full, but also just - - terrified for him, of what happens when he doesn’t come home, when he - - if he - - she blinks away tears at the corners of her eyes and smooths her hand over his, across his split knuckles, cupping the back of his hand, watching as he spreads his fingers just enough to let her slide her own between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie Beth and Marcus watch is 'Song of the Sea' and you should watch it. ;-)


	20. Party Popper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managed to get a whole bunch of prompts into this one! Including: 1. Prompt for PH: One of Kenny’s friends develops a big crush on Beth. / 2. domestic fic prompt: beth hanging out with rios sisters or mum without rio☺️ / 3. Prompt for The Center and Circumference: What if Kenny wants to get a neck tattoo like Rio? I know Beth would definitely say no but how would she explain it to Kenny? How would Rio react? / 4. Hello! Prompt for Playing house - Annie addresses smth inappropriate abt Rio and Beth in front of his family / 5. Kiss Prompt 52 accidentally witnessed kiss! / 6. C&C Universe: one of the kids gets high
> 
> Your lowkey reminder that in the C&C universe, Rio has two older sisters – Carmen’s the oldest, an ER doctor, who’s recently gotten divorced from her husband. They have two boys Raf and David. His other sister, Aida, is an artist and a graphic designer who has an off-again-on-again girlfriend and no kids. 
> 
> Ages of the kids in this one:
> 
> Ben – 17  
Sara – 17  
Kenny – 15  
Rafael ‘Raf’ (OC, Carmen and Matt’s son) - 14  
Danny – 12  
David (OC, Carmen and Matt’s son) – 12  
Emma – 11  
Marcus – 10  
Harry ‘Little Money’ – 10  
Jane – still 9 and annoyed about it  
Dakota – 4

“And then what?” Aida asks, sitting forwards in her seat, a wide grin on her face, and Beth can’t help it, she chances a look at Rio, who’s just - - rolling his eyes, of course, but also his lips are tugging up – maybe – just a little, despite himself. There’s something about it that settles warmly in her, the softness in his look, and she drops her hand to his leg before she can think any more of it, squeezing lightly.

And she smiles, almost shyly when he glances down at her hand, then at her, a look of surprise briefly passing across his face that quickly smooths into something steadier, something _good_. She knows she’s still not the best at this - - touching him first, especially not in front of people, but it’s getting easier, or - - no. Not easier. Rather it’s getting harder to control the impulse to.

The arm he has tossed over the back of their couch shifts suddenly behind her, bending, until his fingers smooth over the back of her neck, the skin revealed from where she has her hair up in a messy bun, making her shiver.

“_Well_,” Annie replies, lurching to her feet off the couch and heading over to the bar cart. She waves the bottle of merlot around, gets a yes from Beth, Ruby, Aida, a no from Stan, Nancy, Carmen – before she can wave it at Rio or continue on with her story, they all hear a loud, young voice sound from upstairs.

“_No_.”

Which proves enough to make them all pause. Beth’s gaze darts back to Rio, but he’s squinting above them, like his eyes can burn a hole through the ceiling, through the floor above them, straight into Marcus’ room.

It’s Ruby who breaks the silence in the end.

“Hmm,” she supplies, turning pointedly towards Stan. “Doesn’t _sound_ like one of ours?”

“Nope. Lil’ Money does _not_ have that set of pipes on him, and I’m pretty sure Sara’s still teaching Emma how to French braid in the family room.”

Which in turn is enough to make Beth lean sideways in her seat, half across Rio’s lap, just enough she can see down the hallway to where Ben, Sara and Emma are watching _To All the Boys I Loved Before _on low volume in the family room, Emma sitting on the floor between Sara’s legs as Sara does her hair while talking to Ben over the movie.

“Or mine,” Annie agrees, like she’s seeing what Beth’s seeing, despite the fact that there’s no way she could, and Beth chances a look over at Rio again who looks apprehensive at best, his jaw rocking as an explosion of tense childish chatter erupts from upstairs. “Or yours, Nance, so seriously chill.”

“I _hate it _when you say that,” Nancy says, prickly as she eyes off the stairs. “Do you think Dakota woke up?”

“You literally have a baby monitor in your hand, you would’ve heard. Plus I’m pretty sure Beth and Rio’s room is like, sound proofed so the kids don’t hear - - ”

“_Annie_,” Beth says sharply, glancing sideways at where Carmen’s rolling her eyes and Aida’s about three seconds away from faux retching.

“Please, we all know you two exist in a constant state of foreplay. Your hand is practically on his dick right now.”

“OKAY!” Ruby says suddenly while Beth snaps her hand off of Rio’s leg, something that only makes Rio level a heated glare at Annie across the room. “Who’s checking on the kids?”

“It’s probably one of mine,” Carmen says with a sigh, finishing off her drink and dropping her wine glass to the coffee table. “At the moment, they’re just - -” 

She waves out an exhausted hand, and Aida and Beth both offer her sympathetic looks.

“Divorce can be hard on them,” Beth says. “It’s just an adjustment though. You’ll all get through it.”

Rio grunts in agreement, and Carmen nods, grateful, as she gets to her feet. She opens her mouth to reply, when they hear footsteps pounding down the hallway above them, and then they can see it – Jane and Marcus at the top of the stairs. Beth bites back a groan, at where Jane’s party dress is already torn at the back.

“Just go play with Emma,” Marcus whisper-yells, his little face stern. “This is boys _only_.”

“Mom says there’s no such thing as _boys only_,” Jane hisses back, yanking her arm out of his grip, hard enough she wobbles a little at the top of the stairs, and Beth’s heart lurches as she pushes off the couch, ready to race up if she needs to. “You’re just worried that they’ll like me more than you, and then you’ll have to go and watch dumb, kissing movies with Sara and Emma because nobody will want you on their team anymore.”

Marcus scoffs, curling his lip, but before he can say anything, Jane’s bolting down the hallway, back towards what Beth can only guess is Marcus’ room and god, she’s _fast_, but Marcus has hit his growth spurt, is practically more leg than boy these days, and Jane - - well, Beth’s pretty sure Jane is destined to be Annie-sized. Beth rolls her eyes, hearing them start to scuffle, and she’s starting towards the stairs when Rio gently knocks her back towards the couch, a silent directive to stay, and starting up them himself instead.

Which - - fine, he can handle it, she thinks, reaching for her drink when - -

There’s a slam, a _crunch_, a wail.

Suddenly Beth can hardly breathe and Rio’s running and everyone else is on their feet, Carmen pushing past to get to the front.

“First aid kit?” she asks.

“There’s one in both of the bathrooms,” Beth says quickly, getting to the foot of the stairs only to see Rio sitting on the floor in the hallway, Jane hysterical in his arms, her fingers purple even from here. Marcus’ door is open again at least, and he’s standing in it, ashen faced, all the other boys tucked in behind him. Carmen ducks up past her and Beth starts to herself, only to have one of Carmen’s boys – David – suddenly bolt down the stairs past her, trying to escape the inevitable punishment, almost barrelling her over. She throws out a hand to stop him, and he looks up at her with wild eyes. Beth gives him a disapproving look. 

“Jesus,” Annie says somewhere behind her, not _to _her. “Doesn’t it make you glad our kids are old?”

“Makes me glad I don’t have kids period,” Aida adds, and as if on cue, the baby monitor in Nancy’s hand goes off with Dakota’s four-year-old bustling. She yelps, leaps to her feet, pushes past Beth who’s still trying to get hold of David to get him back up into the kid jail upstairs Rio’s inevitably creating when she hears Stan stepping up behind her.

“Not all our kids are old,” Stan calls back to Annie, smiling softly at Beth, before wrangling David and taking him up the stairs towards the other boys. “And those pipes before might not have been Lil’ Money,” he says, raising his voice firmly but gently, just to make sure Harry hears. “But _boys only _sounds like somethin’ that kid’d be a part of, so.”

Beth moves to go with him, but only makes it up two steps when she hears:

“Is everything okay?”

With a blink, she turns on the spot to see Kenny suddenly in the downstairs hallway beneath her, shadowed by his friend, Mason. She nods, painting on a smile for them, even as her gaze flicks back up to where Rio’s still comforting Jane, Carmen now beside him, trying to get a look at her fingers.

“The boys just got a little boisterous and Jane got hurt. It’s okay,” she says, watching as Rio shoots his most disappointed stare down across all the boys, but levelling something that must be particularly sobering at Marcus and Danny, as it has the latter recoiling and the former bursting into sobs of his own.

“Does Rio need help?”

Beth blinks over at Kenny again, who stares earnestly, honestly back at her, and Beth smiles softly, shaking her head and reaching out to straighten the collar of his shirt. He likes to iron them himself these days – something that she’d thought perhaps had been at Rio’s insistence until Rio had denied it. It was all Kenny, which was all sorts of lovely, despite the fact that he wasn’t actually all that good at it. She looks at the creases, at the upturned corner, and like he knows where she’s going with it, Kenny rolls his eyes, batting her hand away.

“Cool, well, we just wanted to tell you Mason’s going home.”

Straightening, Beth glances behind him to where Mason shuffles a little on the spot, his blond hair floppy, his forehead peppered with zits, his eyes bright and green. Behind them, she can hear Aida and Annie laugh about something in the living room, behind her, she can hear Stan’s gentle, but firm reprimand.

“How are you getting home, sweetie? Do you need a ride?”

Mason shifts his weight, plays a little with his backpack strap, and shakes his head. Somewhere upstairs she can hear Carmen insisting Rio let her look at Jane’s hand, only this time she hears Rio insisting he’s got it covered, which is typical, really. He always thinks he knows best, even though Carmen’s an actual medical professional and his expertise consists of patching up his own gunshot wounds. Beth inhales, sharper than she intends, itching to get up there.

“No, I’m okay, Mrs. B. My mom should be here any minute. She’s coming straight from work, so.”

Beth nods, glancing up again briefly at where Rio’s finally stood up, finally let Carmen lead him and Jane into the bathroom. Rio’s hand is tight on Jane’s back, her arms curled desperately around his neck, and - - he has it covered, Beth reminds herself. She looks back at Mason.

“Okay, well, let me grab you some leftovers to take home for your mom.”

“Mooom,” Kenny groans, embarrassed, and she’s back down the stairs and halfway down the hall before she hears Kenny lean over to Mason. “Sorry, it’s kind of her thing. Everyone always leaves with something.”

Which isn’t untrue, but still. She knows Mason’s mother is widowed, knows it wasn’t a year ago that his father died, knows his mother works hard, long hours, so it’s the least she can do to put some of the dinner aside for her, and maybe a little extra, that they might get another meal for both of them out of it too. It’s not like she didn’t make enough – a slow cooked lamb pot roast with almonds and pomegranate. She grabs a few slices of the spiced bourbon apple pie she’d made for dessert too and a few of the practice-round peach and candied ginger muffins too (the good ones had gone to Demon and his wife as a thank you for taking care of the kids at the warehouse last week when Beth and Rio had had a one hour meeting turn into a half-day one. She’s not sure Demon will ever recover from managing all five of them). She pops them all into containers, spinning on the spot, her party heels clipping on the floor as she walks back to them, surprised to find only Mason.

“Where’d Kenny go?” she asks, blinking, and Mason shrugs, fiddling with his bag strap again.

“Ben wanted to show him something. I said it was okay.”

Beth sighs, glancing back upstairs at where the crying seems to have died down and where Stan’s leading Harry, Marcus, Danny, and Carmen’s boys – Raf and David, down the stairs towards the family room. Beth mouths _okay_? And Stan nods.

“Bruised, and a bit of a nasty cut, but they’re not broken,” he adds. “She’ll be fine.”

She smiles gratefully, before turning her attention back to Mason.

“Sorry for the chaos,” she says lightly, and Mason laughs.

“It’s kinda cool. I don’t have any brothers or sisters and like, only one cousin who’s way older. Like she’s already married and stuff.”

Beth hums, opening the front door and stepping outside with him into the cool evening air. It’s breezy enough to billow her dress slightly, and she smooths it down with one hand, still clutching the containers of food to herself as Mason moves to stand beside her.

“What you made for dinner was pretty awesome,” he tells her, and Beth smiles over at him, mind already back inside, hoping the boys don’t ruin Emma, Sara and Ben's movie. Raf in particular isn’t particularly good at hiding when he finds something boring, after all. Hopes it gives her enough time to go up, inspect Jane’s hand for herself, to lay kisses on it like she’d do when they were all small, like it might make her feel better. “Like, and the fact that you made a dessert with bourbon in it - - that’s pretty fuckin’ dope.”

Beth arches an eyebrow at that, pulled back to the moment, and it’s all it takes for Mason to pink at the cheeks, shrugs.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, and Beth laughs.

“It’s fine, nothing I haven’t heard before, I can promise you that,” she replies easily, and Mason wrinkles his nose, still smiling, still blushing a little in embarrassment, and Beth softens before she can help herself. They’ve been seeing so much of him since his dad died, since his mom’s working more, and he’s a good friend to Kenny and a sweet kid, and god, if maybe she doesn’t look at him sometimes and remember - -

Well.

_Remember. _

“And thank you,” she adds. “It’s nice to know my cooking is fucking dope.”

She winks at him, and Mason’s blush only deepens, his feet shuffling. He opens his mouth to say something to her, what, she’s not sure when suddenly a car pulls into their driveway - - or, at least, it tries to – not an easy feat with all the other cars there.

Beth waves as Mason’s mom pokes an exhausted head out of the car, and Mason moves to grab the containers from Beth.

“Thanks again, Mrs. B,” he says, and Beth nods, smiling.

“Get home safe now.”

Mason smiles, waving as best he can around all the containers before darting off towards his mother. She watches him go, get in, waits for them to drive off before turning to go back inside. It’s not a new habit exactly, but still. She’s had enough reminders of what she and Rio do for a living to like to see people off these days, whoever they might be.

Stealing back inside, she can hear Carmen’s voice peel down the stairs:

“Y’know, maybe if you got out of your goddamn helicopter right now, this would go a lot faster.”

Rio snaps something back at her, his voice too low, gruff to be heard, but it’s enough to make Carmen huff out that irritated laugh in reply that’s so much like Rio’s Beth’s head briefly spins. She thinks about going up but then - - Jane’s not crying anymore, and besides it sort of sounds like the last place she wants to be right now. 

Shaking her head, she makes her way towards the living room instead, smoothing out her dress as she goes.

“ - - because they’re like her little groupies.”

It’s Annie who says it, leaning forwards in her seat and raising her glass as if to punctuate a point, and Beth blinks, not entirely sure what she’s walking in on.

“Right?” Nancy says, somehow having gotten back into the living room, standing up as she rocks a dozing, four-year-old Dakota, who’s draped across her chest like a monkey. Her voice is too loud as she makes wild eyes at Annie. “Did you see the way he looked at your sister when she was hand whisking the cream for dessert? His eyes were like - - _bulging_. He looked like Jim Carey in _The Mask_.”

Annie looks far too amused at that, looking over at her with a grin.

“Wow, Nance, dated reference.”

Nancy holds up the hand not clutching Dakota still to her chest in a very highschool _talk to the hand _gesture, opens her mouth to say something when Ruby suddenly coughs, breaking up everyone’s laughter. And then - -

Well.

Everyone’s eyes are on her.

“Did I interrupt something?” Beth asks slowly walking towards the bar cart to pour herself a drink, and it’s Stan in the end who takes pity.

“Your sister’s just talking about your fan club,” Stan tells her. “Kenny’s little friend over there looked like the president of it.”

Beth blinks, jerks her head back and just - -

_What_?

“Fan club?” she says, and Annie crows.

“Told you. B’s always been totally oblivious,” she leans forwards towards Aida conspiratorially. “I mean, your brother is a master of eye fucking and it still took them like, forty years to get together.”

“_Annie_,” Beth hisses again, as Aida clenches her eyes shut, holds a hand up to Annie’s face, and says:

“Please never talk about my brother’s eye fucking again.”

It’s enough to make Annie cackle – rocking back in her seat and then forwards again.

“Seriously though. They come around after school all like - - _limbs _and body odor and cystic acne, and sit around the table and just like - -watch her, it’s kind of creepy.”

Gaping, Beth stares at Annie, waving her drink around.

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“All of Kenny’s weird, horndog friends,” Annie insists, and Beth blinks, because surely she doesn’t mean - -

“Are you talking about his _study group_?”

“They’re studying something,” Ruby says lowly, and Beth turns around to give her her most betrayed look, before Ruby laughs.

“It’s just a part of growing up, B, and honestly, they’re nice boys. They’re just teenagers and you’re the hot mom in their little clique,” Ruby shrugs as she says it, and Beth blinks as Stan, Aida, Nancy and Annie all nod, like this is just some sort of universal fact.

“I am not - - ”

Beth flails, and Ruby gives her a look.

“Bitch, do not start with me. _You are_. Deal with it. I can tell you from experience, it’s a blessing and a curse. You know how many of Sara’s friends got crushes on Stan? Particularly when he was in uniform? I felt like I was going to have to start wiring jaws shut with the way these girls would hang around with their mouths open like - - ”

She does an impression – eyes wide, lips parted, and Stan laughs, pushing gently into her side.

“You’re one to talk. Sara’s first boyfriend followed you around more than he did her.”

“I did say it was from experience,” Ruby agrees, more than a little smug. She gestures between the two of them. “Two hot parents under one roof. Should be illegal. I feel bad for our kids.”

Laughing loud and hard, Stan nods, leaning in to kiss her, and Beth half rolls her eyes and half melts, because - - cute, okay, while Annie fakes a retch in the background.

“Speaking of hot dads, that’s going to be a serious problem for you,” Nancy tells Beth, wide eyed, still rocking Dakota while she stands. “Like, I’ll be the first to say Chris is _not _my type, but that man is - -“

She sounds a little breathless, rolls her eyes to the ceiling, mouths _oh my god_, and Annie laughs at her.

“You’re a freak, Nance.”

Nancy flails out with her free hand – just enough to whack Annie pretty well upside the head. 

“One of the boys _does _have a thing for him though,” Annie adds, and okay, that Beth _does _know.

“Tommy?”

Annie blinks over at Beth, grins, impressed.

“Well, look at you!” she says. “Picking up on the lust of a teenage boy. I reckon that kid jacks it to your not-husband at _least _twice a day.”

“_Annie,_” Beth groans again, a sentiment echoed by everyone else in the room, and at least that’s enough to make Aida jump in.

“God, I’m having flashbacks to highschool,” she says, waving a hand around. “All of Chris’ weird, baby gangster friends would come ‘round and just like - - totally fuckin’ perv on me and Car. One of them used to hang out the front of the bathroom while we were in there until our mom threatened to run him over with her car. I think he might have been listening to us pee?”

Which - - is awful, but also just helps Beth to double down on her point.

“Yeah, well these ones aren’t perving,” Beth says, finally sitting down again beside Annie. “They’re children.”

Aida blinks, looking sideways down towards the family room, as if gauging the ages of the kids sitting in there, which means it isn’t much of a surprise when she says:

“How old’s your kid again?”

“He actually turns fifteen in two weeks,” Beth says, unable to bite back the smile, because he really has just been so excited for his party. He’s one of the last kids in his class to have his birthday, and he’s treated every other birthday party he’s been to this year as little scouting missions, talking Beth through what he thought was cool and what was totally lame – the fact of which had amused Beth to no end.

(“Would be good if he could put this much effort into school,” Rio had said gruffly after Kenny had talked them through all the good and bad things of the last party he’d been to, and Beth had just laughed.) 

“Yeah, they’re pervin’,” Aida says, making Beth startle, and Annie crows happily, holds up her hands and says something that sounds like _preach, sister_, which - -

Beth opens her mouth to reply, when suddenly Carmen appears in the doorway, swearing colourfully in Spanish as she flops down onto the couch beside Aida. She grabs her drink – which Annie had topped up while she was upstairs – and throws it back in one gulp, before looking over at Beth.

“You ever finally murder that asshole, please call me so I can make sure you’ve finished the job,” she says, and Beth can’t quite hold back the laugh.

*

Rio exhales, content, pulling out and rolling off her. He stretches a little back on the bed, his spine cracking as Beth grabs a few tissues from her bedside table, cleaning up between her legs. She still feels a little hazy – probably should have skipped the last two glasses of merlot, but she also feels pretty good, fucked-out good, tossing the tissues into the bin and wriggling into Rio’s side. She preens happily when he turns just enough to brush the hair back off her face, and leans in to kiss her.

After Carmen had come down, Beth had gone up, finding both Rio and Jane in Jane’s bedroom, her little hand tightly bruised, band-aids on almost every finger. She’d stopped crying, but collapsed into Beth’s arms the second she’d seen her, and Rio had pressed his lips to both their foreheads before heading downstairs. It had been late enough at that point that she’d eased Jane into sleep, and found herself back at the party before long, the conversation of Mason and Kenny’s study group forgotten, at least until the end of the night when Annie had made some bad joke about Beth’s boyfriend hopefully not coming back tonight – which had gone over about as well as anyone could’ve expected given Rio hadn’t been there for the context of the joke.

“Annie was a _lot _tonight,” she says, thinking more on it, and Rio hums.

“Yeah, she’s always _a lot_, mami,” Rio replies, shrugging a little as he folds back down into their bed. “Don’t help when she does shots with Aida before dessert though.”

Beth snorts, looking over at him, taking in the slope of his nose and the fan of his eyelashes. He’s looking rested at the moment, which is a way she’s recently learnt she’d never seen him look. Something fresher about him, since they dropped two of their more problematic clients from their books. They don’t need the money after all. They’re doing – all in all – pretty good.

The thought settles happily, but still - - Beth can’t quite help but poke at tonight.

“That thing about my _boyfriend _too,” Beth adds, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you missed it – she called Kenny’s study group my _fan club_.”

And he does laugh at that, amused in a way that Beth laughs too, because he _gets it_, thinks it’s as ridiculous as she does, and Beth wriggles a little further down in her bed.

“Fan club? Shit, I woulda said groupies.”

And - -

“What?”

Rio hums, looking over at her, amused.

“What?”

“Groupies?”

“Mmm,” Rio hums again, gaze flicking down to her sheet covered body. “Three minutes away from throwin’ their boxers at you, since hittin’ on you ain’t gettin’ them nowhere.”

Beth wrinkles her nose, and Rio laughs, leaning over to bite it, before reaching over her to turn off her bedside lamp. Beth waits until he’s off her and lying back down to reach over and turn it back on.

“When?” she asks, sitting up in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest, and Rio blinks up at her, forehead furrowing in confusion.

“When what?”

“I mean give me an example of when they’ve - - ” she flails a hand out. “Hit on me.”

And she squints a little, immediately annoyed at the too-big, too-bright grin that spreads across his face. He turns a little over in their bed towards her, popping an eyebrow and not even bothering to hide his amusement which is frankly _rude_. Beth squints harder, holds the sheet a little tighter.

“You wanna know when Kenny’s classmates hit on you?”

He says it with such heavy disbelief, that Beth latches onto it, widening her eyes and nodding.

“See? It sounds ridiculous.”

“Only sounds ridiculous coz you ain’t seein’ it.”

She rolls her eyes, thins her lips down at him, and Rio laughs, propping himself up on his elbow so that he’s sort of half raised to meet her, and she has to resist the urge to flatten her hand on his face and push him back down onto their bed.

“’Sides, they ain’t hittin’ on you, they’re just checkin’ you out, prob’ly seein’ which one can get the best look down your blouse,” his eyes slip shut again as he yawns and says something that sounds suspiciously like _horny motherfuckers_. Beth frowns. Thing is, she’s barely even noticed them looking at her. They’re a study group for goodness sake, it makes sense they’d want to spread out around the dining room table while she’s making dinner in the kitchen, or working on something she brought home from the office at the kitchen island.

They come in sometimes to talk to her, but that’s just because they’re polite, and usually it’s to ask her if she can make them a hot cocoa or something, and okay, maybe she did look up the other day as she was stirring in the cocoa powder and Mason _was _staring at her chest or - - that was probably nothing, she reminds herself. God - - 

“They’re children,” Beth insists, and Rio laughs again, a little exasperated this time. He shakes his head, before glancing back up at Beth, his eyes wider than they have any right to be, inquisitive almost. 

“How old’s Kenny turnin’ next week?”

And right, Beth thinks. That’s exactly it!

“Fifteen,” she says, punctuating her point, and Rio holds his hand out like it proves his.

They both just stare at each other, briefly confused how the other can’t _get it_, and Beth finally scoffs, flopping heavily sideways into her pillow, resting on her elbow, mirroring Rio’s pose so she can better argue with him. 

“Please, when I was fifteen I had only just started dating Dean and we were like,” she flails a hand out. “Babies. We thought the sexiest thing in the world was holding hands at the drive-in. We didn’t even kiss until my sixteenth birthday.”

He gives her a look at that which is simultaneously incredibly amused and incredibly judgemental.

“Yeah, coz that dumbass ex of yours couldn’t close a deal if it came pre-signed,” he says. “Wanna know what I was doin’ at fifteen?”

Which - - well.

“No,” she replies petulantly, because while she knows Rio’s history is certainly - - _extensive_ to say the least, she can’t say beyond brief bouts of insanity she’s ever had any desire to know the details. Rio grins again, huffing out a laugh.

“Look, it ain’t that deep. You’re their friend’s mom, you got this whole too-sweet, Martha Stewart energy in this stacked, Jessica Rabbit package. They know they ain’t got no chance beyond lookin’ down your shirt and standin’ a little too close, but they gonna try it anyway coz they’re young and they’re really fuckin’ dumb. You get uncomfortable with it, you tell them to take a walk. They don’t, you snitch on their horny asses to their parents. That don’t work, you tell me, and me and them can all have a little talk.”

He shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and Beth stares at him, irked by the blasé authority of his tone, like he _knows _what this is, like - - like it isn’t the first time he’s going through this with a kid too. 

“I’d rather you didn’t pull a gun on a group of teenagers for looking at me,” she says dryly, before adding: “Which I’m not even convinced they _do_ by the way.” 

Rio rolls his eyes, looking briefly at the ceiling before back at Beth.

“Then what are we talkin’ about?”

And - - well. She doesn’t even really know. It had just surprised her – how Annie and Ruby – god, even Stan, had been so certain that Mason had a crush. Little Mason, who’s been coming around since Kenny started at Glenvale almost three years ago, bright eyed and sweet and helpful and a _child_ and if Mason’s growing up, then that probably means Kenny is too.

She feels her lower lip wobble before she can even help it, and sees Rio clock it, frown, but before he can say anything, Beth quickly cuts him off.

“Well Annie thinks one of the boys has a thing for you,” she says, putting on her best _know it all voice _that both Rio and Ruby say is going to get her in trouble one day, and for a minute, Beth doesn’t think he’s going to let her pivot, but in the end he just lets loose a smug grin, shrugging knowingly.

“Mm,” he hums. “One with the glasses and those ugly ass sneakers?”

And just - -

Okay.

That’s not _fair_.

“His name is Tommy,” she sniffs, but dammit, he _is _the one with the glasses and the ugly sneakers. “How do you even know that?”

“Just because it takes someone proposition’ you in the passenger seat of your mama van to realise someone’s checkin’ you out don’t mean we all got that problem.”

Beth blinks, a flush finding her cheeks, sliding down her chest before she can help it, and Rio’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and she knows he’s going to press them to the bony cup at the top of her sternum before he even does. He likes that, she knows, to taste her blush.

She shivers pleasantly, raking her nails down through his hair, feeling him purr against her chest.

“It didn’t take that, just so you know,” she tells him. “I knew way earlier.”

Well, a little earlier, not that much earlier, but - -

He makes a placating noise, but she knows he doesn’t believe her. His hands glide down over her naked sides beneath the sheet, pulling her hips against his and Beth lets herself be pulled, despite still feeling a little sore from doing all of this fifteen minutes ago. His recovery time really is pretty unbelievable.

Lifting his head, Rio just stares at her for a minute, like he’s trying to read something on her face, when suddenly he says:

“You gonna make all this a thing?”

“No,” she replies quickly, and Rio makes a noise like he doesn’t quite believe her, and Beth grins, leaning in to kiss him, snaking her hand down between them. It’s not like they’ve never used sex to distract each other before. Besides, it’s not a thing.

She doesn’t think it’s a thing?

(It’s probably a thing.)

*

Or - - at least, it’s not a thing until the following week, when she’s tossing the salad for dinner and Kenny strides in the backdoor, his hair still wet from swimming and the faint smell of chlorine lingering around him. She flicks her gaze up, checks the clock.

“You’ve got about fifteen minutes to shower if you want to before dinner,” she tells him, holding out her cheek for Kenny to lean down and press a quick kiss too (he’s already _so tall, _almost eye-to-eye with Rio and she knows he’ll be at least a head taller than him in no time). 

“Thanks, I showered at the pool though,” he replies, disappearing briefly into the laundry to put his swimming things on to wash before getting back to her, sliding into one of the stools at the kitchen island, his fingers drumming a little on the counter.

“You sure?” she asks, squinting a little, amused, back at him. “You smell like you could strip the wallpaper in your sisters’ rooms.”

Kenny rolls his eyes at her, and Beth has to bite back a grin, grabbing the cucumber and starting to dice it for the salad.

“How was school?”

“Good,” Kenny offers easily, leaning back a little in his seat. “I got a B- on my history exam.”

Beth stops, dropping the knife to look at him properly, a big grin painting her face. “That’s amazing! The one on the Industrial Revolution?”

Kenny nods, and Beth glows.

“I’m so proud of you, honey. I know how hard you worked on that.”

Because he did, is the thing. Kenny’s not studious like Emma, nor naturally smart like Marcus, nor creative like Danny. He’s not even like Jane, who - - well. Beth resists the urge to entertain that particular point of annoyance.

(“She’s practically gifted,” the teacher had told them at the last parent-teacher meeting with an exasperated shrug. “She picks up on things incredibly quickly, she’s a natural problem solver, she just - - would rather use those talents to disrupt the class instead of be a part of it.”

Rio had ranted the whole way home.)

“You can put it on the fridge,” Kenny jokes, and Beth gives him a look, because she absolutely would if he’d let her. Kenny’s always hated that sort of thing though – particularly because his B- will be sitting on a wall of Emma and Marcus’ perfect scores.

“SO,” he says suddenly, smacking his hands lightly down on the kitchen island. “I’ve been thinking - - when was the last time you and Rio went on a date?”

Which - -

_What_?

Beth blinks wildly, neck jerking back, before she firms herself back up, narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion.

“We go on plenty of dates,” she tells him slowly, her hands starting to steadily chop the cucumber again. “Why?”

Grabbing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, Kenny scrolls easily through something before finding whatever it was he was looking for and presenting it to her to read – an online ad for the Detroit Food and Wine Festival. She blinks, briefly touched, before her eyes scan the rest of it and see the date.

“That’s on Saturday,” she says, adding: “At the…same time as your birthday party.”

“Oh! Is it?” he asks innocently, looking at it again. He shrugs, practiced, and Beth feels her jaw tighten before she can help it. “Oh, man, that sucks. But y’know, this doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d wanna miss. Whereas like – my birthday – you’ve been to fourteen of those already, and I’m gonna have like, a hundred more or whatever.”

Beth stares at him, shifts her weight, before dropping her attention back down to her chopping.

“And what about your father? He’s driving over from South Haven.”

“Well, I mean, if you and Rio are going to this, it’d be kinda weird if he was the only parent, and y’know, it’s so far to come anyway and he doesn’t really like the drive anymore. Besides, he’ll be here next month for grandma’s birthday, so we could just do something for mine then too.”

“And your brothers and sisters?” she asks, her voice tight, and Kenny shrugs, but seems to briefly waver, realising he’s sprung.

“Sleepovers?” he offers, and Beth drops the knife, the irritation in her suddenly bubbling over. She wipes her hands furiously on her apron before just - - fisting it a little, shaking her head.

“Kenny - - I - - ”

“Josh’s party was unsupervised and it was the best one!”

It’s dropped so quickly, with such urgency, it takes a moment for the words to catch up with her, and when they do, she finds herself reeling forwards in fresh anger.

“_Josh’s party was unsupervised?”_

“I mean, no,” Kenny tries weakly, realising his mistake before shaking his head. “But it felt like it! His parents were out of town so it was just his sister, and she was really cool, and it just felt like - - _better_, y’know? I don’t want to have a bunch of little kids around screaming like Jane or doing _weird _things like Danny, and my _parents _hanging around being embarrassing. I want to just hang out with my friends.”

Outside, Beth can hear Rio pull up to this house, can hear the kids tumble out of it from after school activities, a bustle of chatter and heavy backpacks and still-little feet, and Beth finds herself gritting her teeth.

“Birthdays are about family,” she tells him, her voice tight. “The _party _and the _friends _are a bonus. Besides, I’ve been cooking already and I have some special treats planned and some games and - - ”

“What?” Kenny says, slouching back in his kitchen stool, huffing out a sullen breath. “A bounce house and a clown cake? Mom, I’m _fifteen_ not five. Save it for one of your other kids, it’s not like you didn’t have enough of us.”

“_Excuse_ me?” Beth says sharply, and Kenny glares at her, sliding to his feet, and striding off down the hall, and it’s typical, that Rio would walk through the front door right as Beth is yelling: “Don’t walk away from me, mister, we haven’t finished talking!”

But Beth’s left only with Rio’s raised eyebrow and set jaw, Kenny upstairs and out of sight.

*

“It’s not funny!” she insists, irritation still sparking in her belly as she slips into her nightie, but Rio just keeps laughing, sprawled, nude in their bed. She glares back at him, and he looks practically _delighted _back up at her, which is _exactly _what she needs right now - - truly.

“Mami, it’s _hilarious_,” Rio says, and Beth scowls. “Shit, that kid really think Imma let a bunch of teenagers go unsupervised in _my_ house?”

“_Our_ house,” Beth corrects, grabbing her tube of lotion from the top of her chest of drawers and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Rio waves a hand at her like _same difference _which is _categorically untrue, _particularly when it comes to him. She squints at him, purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything as she uncaps the lotion tube.

“I mean, shit, that paintin’ in the hallway alone would pay for at least one of their college tuitions.”

Which sure, Beth thinks, rolling her eyes, and having to bite back the urge to say _let’s sell it then_, because despite everyone else apparently thinking it was _dope _she mostly hated it. Still, they’d agreed to compromise – Beth _had_ gotten her super comfy pear-green couch for the family room after all (Rio had wanted brown leather, a fact Beth had adamantly disagreed with). 

“That’s not the point,” she tells him now, spreading the lotion on her legs.

“What’s not the point?”

“The - - ” she waves a hand out at him. “Unsupervised part.”

He pops an eyebrow in question, and Beth sighs, annoyed that he’s not getting it.

“He tried to uninvite us to his birthday party.”

Even saying it aloud somehow makes it that much more real, digs the knife in that little bit deeper. She’d made three stress cakes after he’d gone upstairs as a result, the fact of which had made everyone in the house nervous. Jane had even come over and given her a hug which was – Beth was pretty sure – one of the seven signs of the apocalypse. Right now though, Rio just shrugs.

“Only surprise about that is that he ain’t tried to do it sooner.”

Which - - _no_, Beth thinks, spinning on the spot in betrayal, her hand clutched to her chest, and Rio stares at her, shocked by her reaction, before shaking his head, exasperated, half sitting up.

“He’s turnin’ fifteen, ma! What do you expect? He don’t want us around, crampin’ his style and whatnot.”

“What style?” she scoffs. “He still has _Star Wars _bedsheets.”

“Not for long,” Rio sing-songs, flopping back down in the bed. When Beth just stays there, sitting up, her legs only half-lotioned, he turns around to look at her, laughing again. “Aw, I’m sorry, baby. You hurtin’?”

Which - - okay, she _is_, but if he’s going to make fun of her for it, she certainly won’t be having that conversation with him.

She glares at him, and when he reaches out to pull her towards him, she stands up, striding over to her chest of drawers to put the lotion away, and she’s thinking about going downstairs to do the frosting on one of the cakes she made earlier – still too annoyed for bed – when she feels herself being grabbed from behind.

Gasping, she flails as Rio carries her back to bed, depositing her heavily enough on the mattress she squawks, but before she can move to sit up, he climbs – still naked – on top of her, pausing only when they’re eye to eye, him on his hands and knees above her, giving her enough room to wriggle out if she really wants to, and then he just - -

Stops.

Stares at her, like he does sometimes, somehow both soft and firm, blinking slowly, and Beth stares back at him and just - - frowns. Rio sucks in his lips, thinking, before he sighs.

“Gotta leave the nest sometimes,” he drawls, and Beth’s frown deepens.

“He is not leaving the nest yet,” she says sharply, and Rio nods above her, takes her in again, shrugs, and his voice is softer when he says:

“Startin’ to flap those wings though, huh?”

Beth’s lower lip wobbles, and she looks away from him.

“It’s a good thing,” he tells her. “You want him independent. Don’t wanna be tryna cram him back inside you like your sister doin’ with Benjamin.”

And - - well. Beth gives him a look at that, because he’s not exactly _wrong_. Annie’s not at all ready for Ben to disappear off to college next year, but then - - god, Kenny’s not that far behind. Still, above her, Rio laughs softly, reaching down to brush her hair off her face.

“’Sides, we got more,” he tells her. “Don’t think Danny’ll ever move out.”

“Yes, he will,” Beth says, sighing glumly. “They’ll all leave me.”

“Well then you got your sister,” he replies dryly. “Don’t think we’ll ever get rid o’ her. Kenny’s gonna go away to college and she’ll probably take over his room, pretend she always lived there or somethin’. Move her girl and Delaware in.”

And okay, maybe that makes her crack a smile. She arches an eyebrow up at Rio.

“I know you know his name is Dakota.”

“Know it’s a stupid name still too,” he tells her with a shrug, and when he leans down to kiss her this time, she lets him.

*

“Wait, does that mean we were uninvited too?” Annie asks, eyes wide as she helps lay out the food for the party on the table on their back deck, and before Beth can even think to reply, Ruby scoffs loudly.

“Bitch, _why _would he want us here if he doesn’t even want his mom and stepdad there?”

Annie curls her lip, gesturing wildly between them all. She looks good at least, in her black romper, her hair newly bleached, her lips bright red.

“Because we’re about a million times cooler than Beth and - - okay. Not Rio. But definitely Beth. _I’d_ want me here.” 

Ruby rolls her eyes, before grabbing another platter of the little cucumber and sesame sushi rolls Beth had made to lay out. She looks good too – in a white blouse and black skirt, a black bow at the neck of her shirt. She pushes the platter back on the table, fitting it between the rice paper rolls and the little chicken meatballs.

“It’s tough, I get it. You should have seen Stan the first time Sara said she didn’t want us at her debate – get this - - apparently our cheering is embarrassing now? It was like she ripped his heart out of his chest.”

Beth gives her a commiserating look, before moving the punchbowl to the other end of the table, taking a moment to look over her handywork and - - well. It looks great. She knows it looks great, just - - it’s also now what she’d been planning. She’d abandoned more than a few of the things she’d organised after Kenny had been so rude – even after he sort of, almost, half apologised – which meant there was no longer the popcorn machine or the ping pong table she’d hired, or the retro, inflatable couches. Instead, she’d stuck to streamers, food, a few iceboxes, a killer punch (if she did say so herself) and a birthday cake that Marcus had studiously helped her make.

“It looks killer,” Annie says, like she’s read her mind, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“Very grown up,” Ruby adds, and just - - Beth frowns, because it _does_, but also maybe she’s not entirely ready for that. She opens her mouth to say something along those lines when Emma suddenly appears in the doorway of the house, and Beth gasps, a wide grin spilling across her face.

“Honey! You look beautiful!”

Emma practically glows at the compliment, giving them a spin in her pink and white gingham dress and tan sandals, her long, dark hair fanning out like a cape. Annie instantly starts singing the _walk walk fashion baby _part of Lady Gaga’s _Bad Romance _and Emma sucks in her cheeks like a model, catwalking out to them in a way that makes them all hoot and Emma burst into giggles, flushing bright and pink.

She spins again when she gets to Beth, and Beth stops her, turning her around so that she can tighten the straps on her new bra (and maybe that had been kind of a fun growing up thing, Beth thinks. Emma had been so excited, and they’d found her some with polka dots and glitter and a set with unicorns that had even Jane nodding in approval).

“Do you know if Mason’s coming?” Emma asks suddenly, kicking a little at the deck floor as Beth finishes fiddling with the straps on Emma’s bra, and Beth blinks, glancing quickly at Ruby and Annie who both purse their lips and raise their eyebrows.

“I think he might be,” Beth replies slowly, and Emma blushes all over again, spinning around to face Beth, blinking her big, blue eyes back up at her. 

“Can I borrow some of your lipstick?”

And - - right, she looks back at Annie and Ruby again who shrug, and finally Beth gestures for Emma to lead them back into the house, trying her best to put aside the instant grief she feels at even the thought.

She’s sitting on the floor in their en suite with Emma, onto their third shade of pink lipstick, when Rio pokes his head in through the door, having just gotten back from the grocery store picking up ice and soda.

“Dean’s here,” he grunts, and Beth looks over, leaning back from Emma in the process, and she sees it – the moment Rio clocks the make-up. It really isn’t much – a brush of mascara and the lipstick, just enough to make Emma feel grown up, but still. Rio arches an eyebrow at Beth, before looking back at Emma.

“Look at you,” he says softly, and Emma smiles tentatively, eyes darting between Beth and Rio before she clasps her hands together in her lap.

“Do I look pretty?”

“You always look pretty, darlin’,” Rio replies easily, striding towards them and leaning over Beth’s back to kiss the crown of Emma’s head. It’s enough to make Emma glow all over again, and Beth can’t quite help the smile, even if she feels that increasingly familiar clench in her belly at the thought that this first will soon turn into something normal. “You wanna try and get your sister ready? I gotta talk to your mom about somethin’.”

Emma nods, standing up and darting out of the room, already calling out to Jane by the time she’s in the hallway, and Beth calls out, “Get your dad to help, honey!” because god help the person who tries to get Jane ready for anything on their own.

She starts putting the make-up away, surprised when Rio stays lingering in the doorway, looking down at her. When she looks up at him, Rio gestures to his face.

“That new?”

Beth gives him a look, because she knows he knows it is. Still, she wrinkles her nose a little, a soft smile on her lips.

“I think she has a crush on Mason.”

The news only serves to make Rio raise his eyebrows, a decidedly unimpressed look on his face as Beth finishes putting her make-up away.

“Mason? Fifteen-year-old Mason?”

“You know another one?”

“She’s eleven.”

“Only surprise about that is she ain’t got one sooner,” Beth says, imitating him from the other night and laughing when he gives her a filthy look. She shakes her head, holding a hand out and letting Rio help her to her feet. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing. Besides, according to _both _you and Annie, Mason has a crush on me, anyway.”

Rio makes a noise in the back of his throat at that, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t let go of her hand either, at least not right away, squeezing it softly in a way that makes Beth squint a little at him.

“What?” she asks tentatively, and god, he better not have to _go_, he can’t leave her here with a million children. Rio lets go of her hand, taking a slight step back out of the doorway and into their bedroom, like he’s thinking how best to say something, and finally, he just says it.

“Kenny asked me to pick him up some beers.”

It takes her a moment to even comprehend the words, to wrap her head around them, and when she does, she feels a bite of fury she hasn’t felt since Kenny uninvited them the other day.

“_What_?” she hisses, because god – the _audacity _of that kid.

Rio hums, like he’s read her mind, stepping back towards the bed and picking a bottle off their dresser that he must have brought in with him.

“I got him some.”

“_Rio_ \- -”

“Got him some o’ these,” he says, passing the bottle to her and it’s a type of beer she’s never seen before with a bright label and a European name. She glares at him as she takes it, turning it around, anger churning inside of her, gaze flicking back down to the label, spots a zero amidst all the writing on the back and then she - - pauses.

“These are non-alcoholic,” she says slowly.

“Mm,” Rio hums, amused at himself, when Beth arches an eyebrow back at him. “Told him it was some real high-end shit, y’know? Ain’t in English, so they ain’t gonna know.”

“What if they look it up on their phones?” Beth asks, but she can’t quite hide her own amusement now either, the lingering anger reserved only for Kenny.

“Then he can be pissed at me later,” Rio tells her with a shrug. “Means right now though he ain’t gettin’ his friends to raid their parent’s liquor cabinets coz he thinks he got cool parents.”

“We’re not cool at all,” Beth tells him and Rio laughs, shaking his head.

“Nuh,” he agrees, grinning at her, and Beth leans in and kisses him. 

“Speaking of parents’ liquor cabinets, have we - -“

“Locked it away last night, mami.”

“Hmm,” Beth hums, feeling her eyelids drop a little, her gaze settling on his lips. “You’re sexy when you’re being all responsible, keeping our kids safe,” she purrs, and Rio leans in closer.

“Yeah? You sexy in this dress.”

Beth grins against his lips, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt, yanking it down just enough she can press a kiss against the tattoo on his neck. He makes a noise that vibrates against her lips, and then suddenly his hand’s at her chest, squeezing her breast, and Beth gasps, enough to give him the momentum to press his lips against her own again, pushing his tongue into her mouth, and - -

“Beth! Kids!”

Rio sighs at Dean’s voice calling up, breaking the kiss to push his forehead against hers. He squeezes her breast again for good measure and Beth steps back, out of reach.

“Later,” she promises, and Rio smacks her ass on the way out in agreement.

*

“How many kids did he even invite?” Ruby asks, and Beth groans, looking out across her backyard.

“He told me thirty,” she insists, taking a sip of her glass of wine as another few teens stride past them and out onto the lawn, talking loudly about how much somebody’s ass jiggles? Which - - Beth flushes, pulls a face, takes a longer drink of wine. Thing is, it probably _is _only the thirty – along with maybe a few plus-ones, just they seem to _sprawl_, to kick out into every crevice, a mess of gangly limbs and potent body spray and oily foreheads.

It doesn’t help that Kenny seems to have disappeared. She’s not sure she’s seen him since she got him to go talk to Dean for a while – he _had _driven out and miraculously gotten here on time after all, even helped set up some of the iceboxes with Annie and Ben. 

“The beer was genius by the way,” Ruby says, watching some boys’ cheers at the end of the lawn, yell something about _getting turnt_, and Beth grins, nodding, as Ruby adds: “Stealing it for Lil’ Money. No way that kid isn’t going to be like, stealth wild. I’m calling it now.”

Beth hums in agreement, because Harry really is sneaky like that. 

“Just like Marcus,” Beth says, and Ruby laughs.

“Sure, I think you might be in for a bit of a harder time with that guy though,” at Beth’s questioning look, Ruby adds: “He’s got his dad wrapped around his little finger and he knows it. At least Stan can still smell Harry’s bullshit.”

Beth laughs, nodding in agreement again, because honestly. Marcus misbehaves plenty, but every time he gets caught, Rio acts like it’s the first time it’s ever happened. It doesn’t take much either – a wobbly lip, battered eyelashes, slipping in a _daddy _instead of dad like he’s still six and not recently ten. Rio will still dutifully dole out the punishment, but he’ll be back to pretending Marcus is the best behaved kid on the planet and whatever he’d done was out of the ordinary instead of - - well, the _ordinary_.

“Jane too, huh?”

Blinking, Beth turns to look at Ruby again, her forehead furrowed as Ruby watches her.

“What?”

Ruby shrugs, a knowing look on her face.

“He _ran _when Marcus slammed her fingers in that door at dinner the other week. He didn’t come down any time soon either.”

He hadn’t, of course, and Beth smiles, warm, feeling the condensation pearling on her wine glass. She’s thought more about him upstairs with Jane than she cares to admit, the way he’d stroked her hair, the way even the next day he’d peeled the band-aids off to carefully check the cuts, comparing them to the scars on his hands to make Jane feel tough.

“It’s cute,” she says, and Ruby shakes her head.

“It’s a lot more than cute, B. He’s really _in_ it.”

Which - - Beth looks at her, and Ruby tilts her head to the non-alcoholic beers, then suddenly out again, and Beth follows her gaze to where Dean is talking to Emma on the other side of the deck, and - -

Beth frowns.

Dean says something, loud, unintelligible, gesturing broadly, then laughs at whatever it is he said, and Emma tucks her hair behind her ear, shifts her feet, presses her soda with her favourite pink curly straw in it to her chest. She looks - - uncomfortable, but more than that – like she’s trying too much, a half, uncertain smile on her face, a tittering, pretend laugh on her tongue, and Beth’s frown deepens. She glances back at Ruby, who gestures like it’s okay, and Beth gets up, starting towards them, and she’s barely halfway there before Dean leans down, ruffles Emma’s hair and starts towards Beth.

She opens her mouth to speak, but Dean cuts her off, a strange look on his face.

“Beth, what is our daughter wearing?”

And just - -

_What_?

Beth blinks, looking back at where Emma is standing, alone now, in the corner of the yard, the curly straw in her mouth, her pink gingham dress hanging sweetly from her shoulders, looking out across the party.

“What?”

“Isn’t that dress a little short?” Dean insists, leaning closer to her, and she can smell the alcohol on his breath, and Beth rolls her eyes, feels herself smarting.

“It’s hot, and it’s almost to her knees anyway,” she tells him, and Dean scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“She looks - - ” he waves a hand around, and Beth pushes out a hip, annoyed before she can control it.

“Looks what, Dean?”

He flounders for a minute, gesturing wildly, looking back at Emma across the yard, who’s pointedly not looking at them – knowing that they’re fighting, and god, Beth thinks, she - -

“_Older_.”

Which, _obviously_, Beth thinks, and she opens her mouth to reply that _yes_, she probably does, given it’s been almost two months since he’s bothered to see them, when suddenly Dean gestures to his chest, cups his hands there, and Beth sees red.

“Yes, Dean,” she says through clenched teeth. “Your daughter is wearing a bra now. She got her first period last month too, if you’d like to know just how much _older _she is.”

Dean flushes, like that was the last thing he wanted to know, and Beth rolls her eyes, shaking her head and looking at Emma across the party, on her own now since Dean’s abandoned her, sipping shyly on her soda, looking around and she can see it – the exact moment Emma starts to crawl back inside herself, anxious with the volume of people, of older kids, the swell of noise, and Beth’s heart lurches, is just about to abandon Dean herself and start towards her again when Annie suddenly materialises at Emma’s side. She doesn’t know what she says, couldn’t hear her if she tried, but whatever Annie does say makes Emma _Emma _again, her face brightening, her little shoulders shaking with giggles.

Annie throws an arm over Emma’s shoulders, pulls her into her side, says something else that has Emma nodding adamantly and then chattering away, and thing is - - Annie _is _a lot, always, but god, Beth thinks, smiling, despite herself. She’s a lot of the best things too. She watches her guide Emma towards Ruby, where Ben and Sara now are too, the latter perched on the arm of her mother’s chair, and Beth just - - feels overwhelmed with gratitude.

Thing is, Ruby was right. Rio _is_ in it, she knows that – knows if she trains her ears, she’ll hear him inside with Danny and Marcus and Jane, with Raf and David too, who arrived with Carmen an hour ago, but - - so are Ruby and Annie.

It’s been a long time since she felt alone.

Her gaze flicks back to Dean and she finds her anger dissipate when she sees the look on his face. Sees him watching Emma too – seeing how easy it is for Annie, how simply she can talk to her, how easily she can make their daughter happy, and then Beth just feels pity.

“She’s growing up, Dean,” Beth says with a sigh. “They all are. I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not going to stop.”

And - - right, she thinks, looking across the yard at Kenny’s friends, gangly and surly and _pubescent _and - -

Right, she thinks again, her gaze flicking back to Dean.

“Jane and Danny are inside with Rio and Marcus. It would be nice if you could talk to all the kids before you leave.”

“I’m not leaving yet.”

“Good,” Beth says, shrugging. “And I’m just saying I’d like it if you talked to all your children before you _did _leave. They haven’t seen you in months.”

With that, she turns on her heel and back to the others.

*

“Too big?” Beth asks, and Marcus laughs, shaking his head, and Beth hums a little, moving the knife aside to make the slice a little bigger. “How about now?”

“I could eat the _whole _thing,” Marcus insists, grinning, and Beth gives him an amused look, cutting off a big chunk of the gingerbread fudge, and passing it over to him, watching him shove the whole thing instantly into his mouth.

“You choke on that I’m gonna hear about it from your daddy,” she tells him, and Marcus makes a production out of pointedly chewing in a way that makes Beth laugh.

She opens her mouth to say something about being a little too smart when suddenly she hears Kenny’s laugh out on the other side of the window. She pauses, unable to stop herself, and god, she thinks - - didn’t she just _have _this conversation with Dean? Still, she thinks, biting the inside of her cheek. Kenny hasn’t talked to her all night, had vanished amidst the crowd of his friends, and to hear his voice so suddenly - - it’s weird. Like it’s been more than just hours.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool,” Kenny says.

“More than cool,” a girl’s voice replies. “Like, I don’t want this to sound weird, but your stepdad is kind of a DILF.”

“Oh my god, Lex - - ” another girl says, but the first - - Lex - - keeps talking.

“No, like, I don’t know if you’ve _seen_ most dads, but that whole _dad-bod _thing like - - it isn’t the compliment some people think it is, you know?”

“Like, it’s not something to _aspire _to,” the other girl says, and Lex hums in agreement.

“Right,” Lex says. “And like – honestly – your mom is kind of hot too. It’s super weird.”

“Super weird,” the other girl says.

“I’m kind of like, shipping them?”

“Oh my god, is this your first het ship?”

Lex laughs, and Beth pretends she knows a single word that’s coming out of these girls’ mouths. She glances at Marcus, who raises an eyebrow at her, listening too.

“What’s that mean?” she whispers conspiratorially, and Marcus swallows the fudge thickly, before saying:

“It means she thinks you and dad are good together,” he says, and Beth blinks, smiles, preens a little, because that’s nice, she thinks, turning her attention back to slicing the fudge.

“Yeah, they’re like - - in love, I think,” Kenny says, and Lex and the other girl _aww _in a way that makes Beth pull a face in amusement. “It’s like good and bad because I mean, my mom was _not _in love with my dad at all, and it really sucked, but at least I didn’t have to listen to them bone all the time, you know?”

Beth cuts the fudge a little harder, a heat finding her cheeks, and she looks sideways suddenly at Marcus who’s looking pointedly away (even though his fingers are inching for another slice of fudge) and just - - great, she thinks, trying to swallow her embarrassment.

Perfect.

Outside, the girls’ squeal.

“Oh my god, old people having sex is so cute.”

Which - - okay, not helpful, Beth thinks, pushing her hip out and jabbing the knife into the fudge. She should really try and move Marcus away from this conversation but - -

“Do you think he has more tattoos than just his neck one?”

“What?”

“He’s got to. Nobody has _just _a neck tattoo. It’s pretty hot though.”

One of the girls’ hums in agreement, and then the two of them descend into chatter about how tattoos are _sexy _and _dangerous _and Beth blinks in amusement, pushing the fudge onto a platter to take outside when suddenly Kenny says:

“Yeah, I’m gonna get one - - a neck tattoo. Next year probably.”

And then it’s silent, or - - maybe not. Maybe it’s just Beth, standing there at her kitchen counter, her eyes wide, her hands stilling on the knife in her hands, because _what_?

“Don’t you have to be 18 for that?”

“Yeah, but only if you don’t have permission,” Kenny says easily, almost too _coolly_, and Beth blinks hard. “I mean Rio got us beer tonight, so.”

“Hot,” one of the girls says – whether to Rio buying (non-alcoholic) beer or Kenny’s potential neck tattoo, Beth has no idea, and she just - - is having trouble processing right now. Might be having trouble breathing too? It’s hard to tell. She swallows thickly, glancing sideways at Marcus who’s looking wide-eyed up at her, and Beth opens her mouth to say something, what, she has no idea, when suddenly she feels a hand tug on her sleeve.

Spinning on the spot, still wielding the knife, Annie ducks back.

“Woah!”

Beth flounders, putting the knife in the sink and shaking her head.

“Sorry.”

“Totally cool. Uh - - _soooo_, I don’t want to freak you out of anything, but someone has _definitely _spiked the punch.”

Her eyes widening, Beth looks down at Marcus, who’s eyebrows are practically up at his hairline right now, and Beth turns back to Annie who passes her a cup and - -

Yup.

That’s some college-style, budget vodka with that familiar nail-polish-remover aftertaste. Beth cringes, blinking up at Annie.

“And you - - just discovered this by drinking it?”

“Mmm, more by Mason hurling in your rose bush,” Annie says with a shrug, and Beth groans, throwing off her apron and hurrying outside, leaving Marcus with Annie, and - - right, she thinks, pushing past a boy filming Mason on his cell, shooting him a filthy look as she crouches down into the yard beside him.

To say he looks a mess is probably putting it mildly. There’s vomit down the front of his button-down shirt, his floppy hair is stuck with sweat to his forehead, his eyes are glassy, and for some reason, he’s missing a shoe. Beth waves the other kids watching off, and leans forwards to push back his sweaty hair.

“Hi, honey,” she says, and Mason blinks sleepily up at her, a flush finding his cheeks.

“Hi, Mrs. B. Sorry about - - “

He flounders, leaning back in the grass, green around the gills, and Beth shifts enough to try and haul him up, Ruby suddenly appearing at her side as they drag him past the fray of kids, bumping through the crowd, up towards the house.

“Bathroom?” she asks, and Beth shakes her head.

“My en suite. I’d rather the kids didn’t see him.”

Somehow, they manage to get him up the stairs, and roll him into the bathtub, pulling off his vomit-drenched shirt and grabbing a washcloth from the drawer in the vanity. Wetting it, Beth starts to mop him up when Ruby rises to her feet beside her.

“I’ll grab some of Kenny’s clothes.”

“Thanks,” Beth says, and Ruby just nods, ducking out of the bathroom and leaving Beth with Mason in the tub. She really has no idea what time it is, but it’s got to be close to ten, the nighttime light filtering in through the bathroom window, the sounds of the party loud below them. She makes quick work of grabbing a cup off the sink and filling it with water, getting it into his heavy, wobbly hand and encouraging him to drink while she mops the vomit from around his face, and - - god, it’s all in his hair too. With a sigh, she pushes the sleeves of her dress up, praying that Annie, Rio and Dean have control of everything downstairs between them.

“You look really nice tonight, Mrs B,” Mason says, or - - well, doesn’t say. _Slurs_, Beth thinks, and she smiles at him, grabbing the cup of water before he drops it. “I mean, you always look nice, but you look like, _super _nice.”

“Thanks, honey,” she replies, wetting the washcloth again as Mason swerves.

“By nice, I mean hot,” he tells her, voice lowered conspiratorially, and right, Beth thinks, amused but also kind of wishing the earth would swallow her whole. She wipes another bit of vomit off his cheek.

“You’re very sweet,” Beth tells him. “But I am much too old and much too unavailable for you. There are a lot of nice girls downstairs though. And boys too. So - - how about we clean you up, and you can get back out there where you should be, huh?”

Mason sort of nods, mostly, but sinks back into the tub, his narrow chest somehow looking all the skinnier here, his face rounder, more boyish with it’s drunken flush and his wet eyes, and then - - not wet eyes, Beth realises.

Teary eyes.

She sits back, rinses out the washcloth before wetting it again, and sitting by the edge of the tub, and she just watches him for a minute. All gangly limbs, his chin dropped to his chest, his mouth set into a hard little line, and Beth exhales softly.

“It’s been tough at home, huh?” she says gently. “Since your dad died.”

It’s instant then – the way Mason bursts into tears and Beth sighs, heart full in her throat, and leans across the tub, pulling him against her as he sobs against her chest, and when she glances up next, she sees Ruby in the doorway, holding a towel, a few slices of buttered toast, and a set of Kenny’s clothes.

And well.

Ruby’s all in it then too. 

*

“You changed,” Rio says, tugging at the strap of her new dress, and Beth spins into him too easily, pressing her chest to his. She’d had to – between Mason’s vomit and tears. Still, she’d come back down to find Annie sitting back with Ben, and when she’d asked after Rio, he’d been getting the younger kids ready for bed, and the relief Beth had felt at the thought had been close to overwhelming.

“There might have been an incident,” she hums, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, hands finding her hips. “Drinks may have been spiked.”

Rio grunts, like it isn’t much of a surprise, and says, “We tried, mami,” and well. Beth’s inclined to agree.

She presses further into him then, or maybe _presses _is the wrong word. Sinks maybe. Collapses probably. All of her exhaustion catching up to her, and she lets Rio sway her gently, glancing over his shoulder to where the swell of the party is still thriving, and she just sighs.

“How do we even break one of these things up?” she asks with a groan, and Rio hums against her, hands moving from her hips to knit together around her, to rest, clasped, at her lower back.

“Say the word, and I’ll get it done,” he tells her. “Sooner, yeah? Kinda want these kids outta my house.”

“_Our_ house,” she corrects again, and Rio laughs softly, swaying gently with her, only to suddenly stop. The movement is enough to make Beth stop too, to look up at him, her eyes tired.

“What?”

“Gimme a sec,” he says, letting go of her, and Beth frowns as Rio steps back from her, striding outside suddenly, and Beth blinks and then - - she smells it too.

“_Is that marijuana?” _she hisses, and Rio nods, rocking his jaw, and she can see it – the irritation heavy in his look.

“Yeah, fine if he wanna smoke, but he ain’t smokin’ some lowgrade shit when there’s kids sleepin’ upstairs,” Rio says, and Beth blinks.

“_It’s_ _fine if he wants to smoke_?” she hisses, shrill this time, and Rio waves a hand at her, striding promptly outside and Beth stumbles out after him, following him off the deck past Annie and Ben (the former of whom makes a joint gesture at Beth who nods in reply), and around the side of the house to where Kenny’s standing in a cluster of kids, passing around a joint.

“Yeah, nuh,” Rio says, grabbing it out of Kenny’s hand, flicking it out into the grass. “Party’s over,” he decides. “You, upstairs. Ladies, you wanna call your parents, or you want us to?”

The girls either side of Kenny blink wildly, flustered under Rio’s full attention, and Beth steps closer to stand behind him.

“Rio - -”

“Nuh, man, we had an agreement – only thirty kids – there’s more than thirty here, only the beer I get you, there’s more than that here too, and no drugs around your kid siblings or your mom, so.”

Beth blinks wildly, staring at the back of Rio’s head, because _what agreement? _But then her gaze finds Kenny’s – who’s staring, mortified between Rio and her, his mouth open, before finally settling on Beth.

“Mom - -“ he starts, and yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Beth folds her arms over her chest, pushing out a hip.

“Don’t know why you’re looking at me,” she says. “I wasn’t even invited.”

Somewhere behind her she hears Annie yell _BOOM! _And Ben laugh while groaning_ mom_, and Beth stands up a little straighter, thrusting out her jaw when Kenny finally scowls. He opens his mouth, but Rio must give him a look because suddenly Kenny’s storming past them, back into the house, a gangly, teenage thundercloud amidst the silent storm of his friends, and Beth reaches out, squeezing Rio’s shoulder.

It’s quick then, loud – Annie leaping up behind them, cupping her hands to her mouth and yelling:

“You heard the man, move out! Moooove out!”

There’s a chorus of groans, but the kids all start to pack themselves up, and it’s not long before their front yard is packed with fifteen-year-olds texting their parents for pick up and - - well, it’s almost midnight at this point anyway, so she doesn’t feel too badly.

She sits on the front step of the house with a big glass of bourbon, watching the crowd and next year she thinks maybe they’ll hire somewhere. Somewhere with security, she thinks dreamily, and other people to clean up. Somewhere maybe her and Rio _can _leave them. She bets Demon would know a place. Probably Annie too.

She’s still thinking about it when she feels a weight press against her back, and she glances up, surprised to see Danny hanging over her. 

“What are you doing up?” she asks, and Danny shrugs, moving to flop down beside her on the step.

“I don’t like these parties,” he tells her authoritatively. “There’s too many people and you can’t even hear anyone and everyone pretends beer makes them fun when it makes them boring.”

Blinking, surprised, Beth hums, pleased. She runs a hand back through his blond hair, pulling him against her side, inhaling deeply. He smells like soap and sleep and _boy_, and god, he’s older than Emma, but it doesn’t always feel like it.

“Yeah,” she says softly, eyeing off the crowd again. “I’m going to remind you you said that when you turn thirteen next year, and every year after that too, you know that, right?”

Danny blinks up at her, his blue eyes wide, and Beth grins, pressing a kiss to his temple. Still, he sits with her as they watch the kids disappear from their front lawn, the faint sounds of Annie, Ruby, Rio and even Dean helping tidy up inside, broken up only when Annie finds one of the abandoned joints and says, “Blergh, this weed is _awful_,” at the top of her lungs.

*

She’s still tucking Danny back into bed when Rio appears in the doorway, leaning there like he too often does, just watching her. Danny’s probably too old for this really, but he seems to still like it at least, these quiet moments with her, or perhaps he knows she maybe needed this tonight, needed to put one of her kids to bed like they were still small, and it’s too easy to reach out, cup his jaw as he yawns, blinking sleepily up at her.

“’Night, honey,” she whispers, and he mumbles something like _‘night, mom_ back, and Beth kisses his forehead, steals out of the room, taking Rio’s hand as she goes.

“Everyone’s - - ”

“Gone home,” he finishes. “House mostly back together, enough you and me ain’t gonna want to set the place on fire tomorrow. ‘m savin’ the yard for Kenny though.”

Which - -

“Good,” Beth says finitely. “I can’t _believe_ him. He just - - didn’t _care._”

“Didn’t think,” Rio corrects, and when she looks back at him, he shrugs.

“Fifteen, ma. He’s got a lotta fuck ups left in him. That’s okay. We catch him and we check him.”

With a sigh, Beth nods, rubbing a little at her bleary eyes. She’s still annoyed at Kenny – at him uninviting them and still, somehow, expecting so much – the beer and the food and the - -

She squints.

“You had an agreement?”

Rio hums, tilts his head.

“You wanna fight about that now or in the mornin’?”

Staring at him, she thinks it over, any real anger in her blanketed by exhaustion, and so she shakes her head, waves a hand at him and says:

“In the morning.”

Making a sound of agreement, he starts walking them both back to their bedroom only when Beth slows her step, laughing, the thought suddenly having found her again.

“Be prepared for him to start asking you to take him to get a tattoo,” she says, and Rio pops an eyebrow.

“That allowed?” he asks her, and Beth gives him a look that just makes him laugh, pull her up just short of their bedroom, crowding her back against the wall.

“You did good tonight,” he tells her. “They’re lucky to have you.”

“You too,” she mumbles, because it was good - - to not have to think about everything. To know he’d be there, to catch whatever she didn’t, to keep the kids happy and occupied when she couldn’t, to clean up when she was too tired to. She smiles, raising a hand to hook beneath his chin, pulling him in to kiss her, and Rio does happily - - more than happily, sinking his hips instantly against hers, pushing her flush into the wall, and god, just - - the weight of him against her, it still just _does _things to her.

“It’s later,” he purrs against her mouth, and Beth grins, nipping at his lip, running her hands down his back to grab his (non-existent) ass.

“You know what?” she hums. “I think it is.”

He grins, squeezing her breast like he’d done in the bedroom at the start of the night, and Beth giggles, yanking them back into it, walking them backwards, blindly in the dark towards their bed, tumbling down onto it, his mouth on her neck, only to hit - -

Another body?

Another, _yelping _body?

Beth gasps, and Rio springs forwards, tense, ready for a fight, only to throw the light on, and oh _god, _Beth thinks, flushing pink to the roots of her hair.

“Mason! Honey, I am _so _sorry, I completely forgot you were in here.”

That _she’d _put him in here, Beth thinks, mortified, after her and Ruby had mopped him up and moved him to sleep it off in Beth and Rio’s bed.

“Uhhhhh,” he squeaks, eyes wild, and Beth flounders.

“Let me - -“

“I might call my mom?”

Behind her Rio nods sharply, and Mason nods adamantly, moving tenderly, but quickly as he darts down the stairs, and god, Beth thinks, groaning covering her face. She feels it before she sees it, Rio’s hands dropping to the front of her dress, and she glares at him, about to bat his hands away when she glances down and sees that he’s _fixing _it, and - - 

“Oh my god, did he see my - -”

Rio kisses her quickly.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says against her lips, and Beth groans, louder this time, letting Rio deepen the kiss, but not for long. In a few minutes, she’ll need to go apologise to Mason. In a few minutes, she’ll offer to drive him home, and then she’ll do it, making awkward conversation the whole way and pretending Mason isn’t staring at her like she’s - - well. Like he’s seen her at second base with her - -

With her _Rio_.

It’ll be an hour before she’s home, an hour before she gets back in bed, and Rio will be asleep, and soon so will Beth. In the morning she’ll argue with Kenny, but he’ll clean the yard, make promises she knows he won’t keep, and she’ll tell Rio maybe growing up _is_ good – because shipping Kenny off to college sounds really good right now, and Rio will lower his voice, laughing, and purr to her all the things they can do once all the kids are out of there, and for the first time maybe the idea sounds like something that could be full instead of empty.

But that’s later.

Right now, Beth digs her nails into the base of his skull and kisses him properly.


	21. Cold Out There (but it's warm in bed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompts: Brio waking up/morning routine? + lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up.

One of the first things she learns about Rio – one of the first _real_ true things, before they’re even living together, is that he doesn’t sleep.

Or, well, he does, but it’s in pockets and minutes, brief spells when the night’s at it’s thickest – little more than a shutter of his eyelids and an evening of his breath before he’s up again, his body long and alert in the dull light of her bedroom and then, later, the warm light of theirs. She figures its due to work, probably, or maybe fatherhood, or maybe it’s some combination of both of those parts of him with the addition of being just - - _him _too.

And the thing is, maybe Beth knows that too well, because it’s not exactly like she’s the best sleeper either.

It’s not like - - a _thing _exactly. She tells Rio it’s a part of being a mother of four - - or, more than that - - a mother with her three youngests barely having a full year between each of them, and she remembers that too clearly. Nursing Jane against her chest with one hand and soothing Emma in her crib with the other, Danny crawling at her feet, but then - - she hadn’t been the best sleeper before that either.

Knows that, more than anything, she’s just not especially good at turning herself _off_, and maybe that’s why it’s so easy to see that in Rio too. But then again, at least she can, she thinks, because Rio?

He’s always _on_.

She wakes when she feels him shift behind her, slowly, carefully, detaching himself from where he’s been spooning against her back, his broad chest gone, letting cool air lap at her pyjama-covered back. Clenching her eyes shut, only half-awake, roused by him, Beth scoots back across the bed, following him until she’s back against his chest, re-tangling her legs among his, and sighing, content, when he lets her.

Still, he huffs out a laugh, pressing his lips against the back of her neck.

“This gonna be a habit?” he hums, and Beth shifts against the sheets, adjusts, catches his arm before he can slide it off her, pulling it back around her waist.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles into her pillow, voice thick with sleep, with the need to _keep _sleeping, and to keep him sleeping beside her too, and when his arm shifts around her waist, hands briefly squeezing her hips to hold her in place as he disentangles, Beth rolls over, fast enough he lets go, presses her front into his chest instead, and leans in to kiss him blindly, her eyes still closed and crusty with sleep.

She gets his chin which is close at least, she thinks, humming happily when he lifts her enough to actually meet their mouths, biting her lip until she parts them, his tongue pushing in. Her arms rise to circle his shoulders, and she melts into him.

“We don’t have the kids,” she mumbles, somehow, around his tongue, voice still hoarse, eyes still shut.

“We don’t,” he agrees, his hands finding her back, slipping up beneath her silk pyjama shirt to trace the knobs of her spine. It’s nice, she thinks sleepily, but then - - there’s so much to do today. She’d even written a list last night after Dean had picked up the kids and while Rio had dropped Marcus at Laura’s, pencilling in tasks for home and work, to help Annie organise Ben's birthday party, to help Ruby with the bakesale at Sara’s school. Already her mind is letting the day in, even if her body isn’t.

“I’m going to deep clean the laundry this morning,” she says, shifting closer to Rio, feeling the hard lines of his body press against her. She yawns. “Scrub the tile grout.”

She feels more than hears him laugh, his chest vibrating against hers as he noses his way to her neck, pressing his lips to her pulse point.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Beth hums, eyes closed still. “I’m going to throw out Kenny’s socks.”

They’ve been soaking in the laundry sink for the better part of a week, since they’d gotten soaked and muddy and stinky at his baseball game (it had rained _hard) _and she’d warned him that if he didn’t wash them before he left for his dad’s, she’d get rid of them. She sighs, pleased at the prospect of re-homing them in the bin and then - - oooo.

“And put in the new dryer sheets,” she hums, and Rio purrs against her neck, hands coming down to squeeze her ass, pull her into him as she rakes her nails down the back of his head.

“’m gonna fix the heat lamp in the bathroom,” he replies, and god, Beth thinks, wriggling closer, finally blinking her eyes open, she doesn’t think he could’ve said anything sexier.

It had been a weird thing to discover – although perhaps it shouldn’t have been – that Rio was _handy_. And not handy like Dean had been – because Dean _had _been handy too – just - - it would take him forever to actually do anything. All household jobs delegated low on his priority list, her day’s at home continually hindered by what he couldn’t find the time to do for her, only for him to simmer with slighted masculinity if she’d dare suggest she just call somebody out to fix it instead.

Something didn’t even have to be quite broken for Rio to tinker with it – an apparent expert in sanding down rough edges, fixing hinges, repotting plants, cleaning before dust could even really settle. God, even the heat lamp in the kids’ bathroom had only broken last night, and it had taken her basically taking her clothes off in the doorway to get him to leave it alone and come to bed.

And just - - there was something about not even having to ask.

Something about it that just made her feel - -

Cared for, she supposes, a sort of shy warmth spreading in her chest as she shifts her weight between him and her sheets.

“Then ‘m gonna clean the vent in there,” he adds, and Beth groans, delighted, the warmth in her chest spreading lower, making her hook a leg over his hip, only to gasp when Rio suddenly sucks hard at her neck.

“No hickies,” she whines, and his lips snap off her neck with a wet _pop_.

“No kids,” he tells her, looking up at her, and right - - she _had _told him that once, when they were still new, that hickies were acceptable when the kids weren’t there, but that had been back when she thought he’d get over _giving _them to her at some point. She rolls her eyes, letting him drop his lips back to her neck to finish the job, and she keens a little, squirms against him when he latches on to a particularly sensitive spot.

“_Rio_,” she moans, and he laughs, hands sliding up her back again, beneath the thin silk of her shirt, moving to the front to fiddle with the buttons. “We have things to do.”

“Oh, don’t play like you didn’t start this, mami,” he says, and okay, she thinks, head falling back when his lips ghost over her breast, he’s kind of got her there. After all, if he’s not going to sleep, there’s plenty else they can do in bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Wham!'s 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go'


	22. Animalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For so many prompts! Hope you enjoy: 
> 
> Prompt: Rio, Beth and the kids make a trip the the zoo. Things are going well until someone wonders off. Lets see how Rio and Beth are when they’re both trying not to panic.
> 
> prompt for c&c verse: rio appreciating how soft beth is cause i cant get that thigh grab outta my head😭 (or an analysis on it cause i love how well you know rio) 
> 
> Prompt for C&C: ‘Somethin’ yu’ want to tell me?’ Danny suddenly gets very attached to Rio and he tries to find out why. Maybe some form of separation anxiety that came about from an air-headed comment made by Dean. 
> 
> Prompt: One of the kids almost get hurt but Rio’s Dad reflexes saves the day! 
> 
> Prompt for C&C: Beth schedules a thing with the family and it turns out Rio is more excited about it than the kids. Those rare times when the parents have more fun than the kids.;) 
> 
> Prompt for the PH AU: So we all know that Beth has her odd ball quirks, but what about Rio? We saw a little bit of it, with the wrinkled shirt collar or him getting quite when Marcus ignored him, but are there more. Does Beth ever see him do something odd and suddenly know that his odd behavior is connected to him feeling nervous, anxious, or mad? 
> 
> Prompt for the C&C / PH AU: Can we read Rio’s POV on the moment/s where Beth reaches out to him first? With the way you write him, I always wonder what he’s thinking. Especially after the last PH chapter you wrote! He seemed really happy.❤️❤️ 
> 
> Prompt for PH: Can we see some more helicopter Rio, please? Maybe something with Danny? I don’t know why but something about him being a closet helicopter parent melts my heart.

He can see her through the window.

Which ain’t exactly a surprise – Elizabeth’s never been the best at drawing curtains after dark or payin’ much attention to anything in their front yard. Nah, the fact that he can see her ain’t the surprise, it’s more the fact that he can see her right _now_, hovering in their living room with the lights on, gnawing on her lip as she plucks a book off the shelf, turning it over in her hands to read the dust jacket. Her hair is pulled messily back off her face in something approaching a braid, even if she’s still in her slacks from work, her pink floral blouse straining as she reaches up towards the shelves again for another book, and she ain’t seen him, which is just like her, he thinks, rolling his eyes as he toes off his dampened sneakers by the door, lifting his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.

He don’t run every evening, not really, but today had been _good_, a new deal locked in with a guy with deep roots, deep pockets and practically a directory of new contacts, and business? Well, it was about to be booming.

Smearing the sweat a little off his face, he pauses, feels the cool evening air at his stomach, and it’s almost too good. Is, maybe, so he pulls off his t-shirt entirely, letting his jogging shorts hang low on his hips as he slips in through the front door of their house.

Somewhere upstairs, he can hear Emma breathlessly practicing her flute, and Jane and Marcus playing some raucous game he’ll probably regret not checking in on later, but he lets it slide for now, watching Elizabeth hover in their living room instead, her forehead furrowed as she looks between the two books, like she’s interrogating them for somethin’ or other. She still ain’t seen him, and she doesn’t seem to hear him neither (he can’t exactly help it – his step’s always been light) meaning he can get his arms around her waist and her back against his bare, sweaty chest before she even notices he’s there.

And shit – the squawk she makes, the way she jumps about a foot in the air? It makes her almost breakin’ his nose with a hardback copy of _The Secret History _worth it.

There’s the thud of footsteps upstairs, then Kenny’s voice, yellin’ over the bannister:

“You okay, mom?”

“Fine, honey,” Elizabeth calls back, squirming in his grip. “Rio just gave me a fright.”

It’s enough to appease the kids, and Elizabeth twists in his arms, enough he gets a mouthful of her hair before his lower lip grazes her cheek. He hums, kissing her there.

“Yeah, see, I want you to remember this next time I tell you you ain’t observant.”

He can’t even see her face, but he can feel her glare, and the thought is enough to make him grin, pulling her tighter against him and he really is still hot, still damp from his run, and he can feel it, the moment Elizabeth feels it too.

“Oh my god, you’re so sweaty,” she groans, tryna pull away from him, and Rio laughs, rubbing his chest slightly against her back, hand ghosting up to thumb one of the buttons on her blouse.

“Yeah, runnin’ does that, mami,” he replies, letting go enough that she turns around in his arms, curling her hands – still holdin’ those books – around his neck. “You should come with me again some time. We can get sweaty together, yeah?”

And shit, he can’t quite bite back the grin at the look she gives him at that. He’d somehow talked her into it once – when she was all sweet still on the move, trying out new habits and whatnot, and it wasn’t like she was unfit or nothin’, but Elizabeth’s good at a lotta things, but runnin’ ain’t one of them. He can still see it, her slow, awkward stride, legs wobbling, the rest of her bouncin’, and they’d had to stop three times for her to get all that body back in some old, budget sports bra (and at least he’d managed to talk her into gettin’ a new one of those for her mama yoga and pilates classes).

Like she’s read his mind, she rolls her eyes, leaning up to peck him on the lips.

“We get sweaty together plenty,” she tells him, and he blinks, grin cracking wider, because he ain’t ever able to tell if she’s gonna flush at any _implication _of sex or if she’s gonna be offloading comments like that, and he pulls her in closer, his hands dropping to squeeze her ass which only makes her shake her head.

“Your run’s thrown the whole night out,” she adds, and Rio blinks, eyes darting over to the set table in the dining room, and it ain’t that late, is it? He’d kept an eye on the time, knew he had, and shit, that was half the reason he’d been surprised to see her in the living room. Expected her only just finishin’ up with dinner, enough time for him to shower and get the kids cleaned up and - -

“Danny doesn’t want to pack up his art things until you’ve seen his drawing,” Elizabeth says, cutting through his thoughts, and Rio blinks down at her, where her face is soft, those big, bambi eyes of hers trained up on him. She breaks out of his hold, gesturing at him with one of her books. “And it’s great, so _you _need to go do that and then have a shower, so I can finish up dinner.”

Nodding over at her, Rio leans in, pressing a quick kiss to her temple, grazing a hand across her back, before striding back out into the hallway, pulling on his sweaty t-shirt and beelining towards the family room at the back of the house. He still feels a little hot, is halfway towards a shower in his head, when he pauses in the doorway of the family room, seeing Danny sitting at the desk Elizabeth had only recently put in there, his narrow back bowed so far over his nose must be close to brushin’ the page. He adds booking a trip to the optometrist to his mental to-do list. 

“’Ey, kid, your mom said you were workin’ on somethin’ real good,” he hums, and Danny twists in his seat, face brightening, big blue eyes just like his mama’s, and Rio can’t quite help but grin, striding across the room to peer over Danny’s shoulder. There are crushed pastels all over the desk, almost tiling the thing in greens and browns and gunmetal greys – Danny’s hands and arms not much better – but shit, Rio thinks, looking down at Danny’s picture, lips pursing, impressed.

“This the park?” he asks, and Danny nods up at him, his blond hair bouncing around his face.

“Yeah, the bit - -”

“Near the battin’ cages?”

Because he knows it. Can see it instantly. Hell, he doesn’t just know _it_ – knows the woman Danny’s drawn into it too, in her purple leggings, walkin’ her big white dog, can even see the motion of it – because Danny’s drawn that too.

He huffs out an impressed breath, looking down to see Danny grinning shyly up at him, practically glowin’, and Rio drops a hand, ruffling Danny’s hair in the process.

“Your mama knows what she’s talkin’ about, huh?” he says, and Danny blinks owlishly, watching as Rio tilts his head back down towards it. “She said it was real good, and she was right.”

Danny’s cheeks flush, delighted, squirming back in his seat a little like he usually does with the first hint of praise, shyness seeping in around his edges, and he quickly goes to close his sketch book on it when Rio holds up a hand.

“Hey, if it’s pastels, we gotta set it so it don’t smudge, remember?”

It was somethin’ Aida had insisted on when she’d brought those pastels round. Danny had flunked outta art classes – not likin’ them enough, and it had been Elizabeth in the end who’d asked Rio’s sister instead, not for classes, but maybe just to talk to him. What bein’ a workin’ artist and all (“Graphic designer,” she’d reminded them both at the time. “The real art doesn’t pay the bills. Making ugly logos for big shot law firms does.”

“That’s art too,” Beth had insisted then, and then in bed later, said: “Back up jobs,” kinda weird – a little too happy at the thought. “Multiple income streams,” she’d added sleepily, rolling her face into her pillow, but even then he’d known what she meant was _he’ll have options_.)

Right now, Danny blinks, and Rio ducks out of the room towards the laundry, grabbing the fixing spray Aida had bought them from the locked cabinet there (Elizabeth is convinced Jane and Marcus’ll do somethin’ awful with it if they don’t keep it away from ‘em, and Rio’s inclined to agree), before taking it back into the family room. They make steady work of it then, stretching out the page as Rio shakes the can, careful to hold it the right distance away from the drawing, spraying it lightly as Danny watches, his eyes bright and eager, focused, like somethin’ in this is precious, like it’s a gift, and it reminds him so much of Elizabeth, all those years ago, that he briefly loses his breath.

*

“So was there a _reason _for your victory run tonight?” Elizabeth asks him after dinner, after dessert, after an episode of somethin’ family friendly he’d tuned out, more focussed on not getting accidentally elbowed in the crotch when Jane had insisted on lying across both his and Elizabeth’s laps, after the kids are all tucked up in bed.

She’s sitting up on the kitchen island, a glass of wine in her hand, watching him wash the dishes that can’t go in the machine, and he turns around, popping an eyebrow at her.

“Victory run?”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, taking a sip of her wine, swinging her legs a little, amused at herself. “You have a few different types, but I can tell them apart.”

He raises his eyebrow a little higher, taking in the flush on her cheeks and the question in her eye, and he knows she’s talkin’ around somethin’, knows – really – what it _is _she’s talkin’ around too, but still. He can play along. Can’t say he hasn’t always liked seeing how she gets there.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yup,” she says, voice all clear and certain in that way he likes too, and Rio sucks in his lips to hold back the smile, furrowing his forehead in faux seriousness instead, even as he focuses on the dishes in the sink. “You have your Everything-Didn’t-Go-Perfectly-According-To-My-Plan-Even-Though-The-Outcome-Was-The-Same-Run, and your There-Are-Too-Many-People-in-Our-House-To-Have-Sex-Right-Now-Run - -”

He looks back at her at that one, amused, and the flush on her cheeks deepens as she quickly keeps going.

“Your One-Of-My-Sisters-Just-Did-Something-To-Piss-Me-Off-Run - - that one is very specific. It involves a lot of - -”

She furrows her own brow sternly then, starts puffing out faux-irritated breaths, pulls her arms into her sides, and then does some fuckin’ weird, jerky movement that’s mildly insulting to say the least. Rio scoffs, opens his mouth to reply, but she keeps going then too:

“Your I’m-Bored-Run, and your Victory Run. This one was definitely your Victory Run.”

Which - - huh, he can’t say she’s wrong on those, even if she has missed the _she’s_-done-somethin’-to-piss-him-off-run. He licks his teeth, turning his attention back to the washing up as he throws back a:

“Yeah? How you figure that?”

“Because you came back like - - ” she gestures at him with her wine glass then, but doesn’t say nothin’, and Rio laughs, turning back around again, seeing the flush bleed over her chest beneath the high neck of her blouse, and he wonders if he can get her out of it in here. Probably not tonight, not with the kids at home.

“Like what?”

She rolls her eyes, pointedly takes a sip of her wine, and Rio laughs again, turning back towards the sink. He’s just finished scrubbing the baking dish when Elizabeth puts her wine glass down on the kitchen island beside her with a soft clink, clears her throat a little, gettin’ ready to get to the _point, _but he doesn’t look back at her until she speaks.

“I guess you had a good follow up meeting with Kane then,” she says slowly, and shit. That’s more direct than he thought she was gonna play this. He pauses, slowly shaking the excess water off the ceramic baking dish, placing it neatly on the dishrack.

“Yeah, it was good,” he says, finally turning around to face her properly, leaning back against the sink, feeling the water on it soak through the back of his shirt. “Deal’s done.”

And she just - - pauses for a moment, about a hundred looks crossin’ her face, and he knew she’d be pissed – it’s why he was waitin’ for the right time to tell her (it _would’ve_ been the next day or so – he would’ve found the time). She slides down off the kitchen island, her feet hitting the floor, and it’s strange like this – unusual. Her still dressed from work, him in a pair of sweats and a tank, ready for bed. If Elizabeth thinks it though, she don’t comment.

“I thought we agreed to hold off,” she says instead, voice taut, and Rio sighs, flailing a hand out at her, exasperated.

“And I told you we were outta time! I been negotiating this deal for almost a year, and you meet with him what? Three times? And you tryna pull the plug? That ain’t - -” he cuts himself off, irritated now, takes a breath. “We talked about this. Kane’s got the networks we need right now to expand the pills through Indiana and Illinois, and if he ain’t workin’ with us, he’s gonna be workin’ with a competitor, and _we_ gonna be boxed out.”

Elizabeth’s all pink cheeked at that, like she always is when he makes executive decisions. Thing is, it hadn’t been about not listening to her or cutting her off or nothin’ like that. Shit, half the reason it had taken this long to negotiate was Rio wasn’t entirely sure of Kane neither, because he _was _listening to her, but he’d run the numbers again and again and the thing is, they needed the guy if they were gonna expand. More than that, they needed him to _not _be with anybody else.

“I don’t like him,” Beth says, and no shit, Rio thinks, huffing out a breath as he grabs a tea towel from the cabinet, starting to dry the big serving bowl. That had been obvious the second she’d sat opposite Kane the first time, and again the second and third. Not that he can blame her exactly – Kane leered in a way that had Rio shifting closer to her before he could even really help it, and he’d alternated between ignoring her or taking the firmness of her voice as something amusin’, which ain’t ever something Rio particularly appreciates.

Because hell, Elizabeth’s more than proven herself, and she did again in those meetings – knowing her shit and takin’ none, but it hadn’t stopped Kane directing all his questions to Rio anyway and at the end of the day, disrespecting Elizabeth means disrespecting _him_. She ain’t somethin’ he’s bringing along for everyone to look at, she’s his partner. Still:

“You don’t gotta like him,” Rio says, shaking his head as he passes her the dry bowl. She takes it at least, moving stiffly to put it away.

“I think I should,” she says, disagreeing. “I mean, we’re talking about being in business with this man long term, and - - ”

“And he’s got what we need,” he insists again, grabbing a pot and starting to furiously dry it. “We ain’t havin’ him over for dinner, or settin’ him up with your sister. It’s business.”

He rocks his jaw a little when he’s done, skin feeling itchy almost, and it’s only worse when Elizabeth’s face changes – something like a dawning realisation passing her features and _fuck_, Rio thinks, right as she says:

“You don’t like him either.”

It’s said authoritatively, knowingly, her eyes bright, and Rio rolls his in reply, because shit, she really is gettin’ too good at reading him.

“Yeah, and that don’t matter neither.”

“I think it does,” Elizabeth tells him again, and Rio sighs, opens his mouth to reply, when she keeps going. “I think we can find somebody else. Somebody better. Somebody we might actually _want _to work with for the expansion.”

He could almost laugh, seeing the sudden determination on her face, and he keeps his own eyes bright, nods a little along with her, like he totally agrees, as he asks:

“Damn, darlin’, don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Who you got in mind?”

And it ain’t entirely fair, but it’s not _not_ fair neither, and there’s something a little too satisfying in watchin’ her mouth hang open, her chest flush when she realises she ain’t got an answer to that. He hums, gratified, turning back to finish drying the dishes when she adds:

“I’ll find somebody else,” which - - Rio clenches his eyes shut briefly. Rocks his jaw. 

“Yeah? How?”

“I have my ways,” she tells him mysteriously in that way she does which he _knows _means she ain’t got no fuckin’ clue, and he wonders what path she’ll choose this time – tryna get Demon on board, or findin’ some mama in carpool interested in pharmaceuticals or - - shit, tryna go undercover in the Illinois organised crime scene. Something like anger sparks at the thought, pinching at his nerves.

“Okay,” he exhales. “Well, while you doin’ that, Kane’s gonna start for us.”

Elizabeth opens her mouth to argue that point – probably go back to her original one, about _holdin’ off_, like that’s an option, when Rio asks:

“You organised anythin’ for Danny’s birthday yet?”

The question blindsides her, gets her eyes wide, blinking a little too much as she tries to catch up. She shakes her head at him.

“Rio - -”

“I looked into that art class at the Y, but I dunno,” he says, shrugging. “He didn’t like the other classes we signed him up for, and I kinda got the feelin’ they ain’t intendin’ this one for a ten-year-old and his rowdy fuckin’ siblings neither, y’know?”

The words hang for a minute, enough he can dry the last couple of dishes, only this time, he puts them away himself, finding the brief pause a relief more than anything as he opens up cabinets and tidies away the last evidence of their meal. Above them, he hears the toilet flush and then a door close.

Kenny, he thinks, judgin’ from where the sound comes from. He’ll need to check he’s actually asleep. It’s school tomorrow after all, and last thing he needs is another call at work because Kenny’s dozin’ in algebra again.

“The zoo’s doing a frog show at the moment,” Elizabeth says suddenly, breaking up his thoughts, and Rio jerks his head around to look at her, her jaw slightly forward, lips pursed in that way that means she ain’t happy about the pivot in topic, but still. She goes with it.

“There’s a rainforest conservation talk and like, a handling session and everything,” she adds, and Rio nods, because Danny’s been into rainforests since they studied them in his third grade science class last year, spouting off the difference between temperate and tropical, about how the light don’t hit the ground in the densest parts of them, but nothing more than about frogs – poison dart frogs and glass frogs and red-eyed tree frogs. Rio’s pretty sure he could rattle off enough to get some sort of honorary degree himself purely by way of listening to the kid. 

“I thought I could make a cake and maybe drop it in early at the restaurant, so Danny doesn’t see. It could be a surprise.”

Like she doesn’t make a cake for every one of them every year, Rio thinks, amused, but shit, suddenly his mind’s on the zoo. Can already hear the yawning mouths of lion and the bustle of people, can feel Marcus’ weight on his shoulders, see him grin, can see somewhere, in the annals of his memory, his own father’s grin too.

It’s been a while.

“Sounds dope,” he says, and Elizabeth must hear something in his voice, because when he turns around, her face has relaxed, her jaw back to where it usually sits, her lips parted curiously, like she’s tryna figure something out – like maybe he’s still tryna distract her or somethin’. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d want to do it.”

He huffs out an amused breath, wandering over to flick the kettle on to make himself a tea. Russian Caravan, he thinks, or - - hm. Maybe apple and chamomile. If he makes one of them, she might have one too. He grabs the box out, shakes it at her, and she nods.

“Why’s that?” he asks, turning his attention back to the cabinets, grabbing them out a mug each.

“Because it’s the zoo,” she says dryly, playing a little with the buttons at the belly of her blouse. Rio snorts in reply, grabbing out a pair of tea strainers from the top drawer. 

“Take it that means you ain’t a fan.”

“God, no,” she tells him easily, laughing. “We have five children between us. Plus Annie. My life is a zoo.”

He can’t quite bite back his grin at that, pouring in the boiling water over the tea leaves, letting the water bronze, as he turns back to Elizabeth.

“And the smell,” she adds, wrinkling her nose. “Like wet dog and animal poop.”

“Damn, ma, your sister don’t smell that bad.”

She gapes at that, reaching close enough to try and hit him, defendin’ her sister’s honour and whatnot, and he grabs her wrist easily, using it to tug her into him, humming, content, when the soft curves of her chest hit the hard plains of his. He runs a hand down her back, untucking her blouse from her slacks before slipping his hand back up beneath her shirt, dipping his thumb beneath her bra strap, running it along the indent it’s left in her skin just to feel her shiver.

“God, how can you - - I mean. _Why_ do you like it?” she stutters when he pulls a little at the clip on her bra, almost undoing it until she brings a hand behind herself to stop him.

Rio just shrugs. He always has really, ever since his dad used to take him, Carmen and Aida when they were kids. Their dad worked too much to do anythin’ with them often, so it felt like something when he’d take them to the zoo, when he’d get him sitting on his shoulders so he could see over the crowds, mumbling dumb shit up at him in Spanish, like how many teeth a lion has and how aardvarks trap termites by curling their tongues. Loved the most doing it himself with Marcus, like it connected them still somehow, him and his dad, Marcus and the abuelo he’d never get to meet. The memory’s bittersweet, but sweeter these days, the years passing since his death letting him focus on the good instead of those last years where the cancer turned him inside out.

He looks down at Elizabeth then, where she’s looking up at him, almost tells her, only to stop at the look on her face, soft and a little too bright, a little too curious, and he remembers the scattered, brief, miserable notes she’s told him about her own dad, and it halts the words on his tongue. In the end he just shrugs.

“I dunno,” he says. “Just like it.”

Elizabeth squints a little, like she don’t quite believe him, but she lets it go when he crowds her back against the kitchen island, tryna see if she’ll let him take her shirt off here.

(She won’t, but she lets him in their bedroom at least, the door closed and her lips wet. Lets him do a lotta things then.) 

*

So he don’t tell her about the meeting.

The fact of which would be easier to ignore if Demon didn’t bring it up the second Kane got back into his ugly-as-shit Lamborghini, the starting details of their new arrangement on a USB stick in the back pocket of his too-tight grey slacks. Fucker really wants to look like some white collar yuppy and not some street level distributor with practically a library of blackmail on every suit in the Midwest. 

“Thought the boss would wanna be here for that,” Demon says as they watch Kane back out of the carpark, and Rio’s head snaps around to stare at him, jaw locking. It ain’t the nickname – which Demon gave Elizabeth after she kicked all their asses at pool, or at the tone neither, more at the fact it ain’t even a question.

Thing is, Demon’s never had an issue with tellin’ Rio he thinks he’s fucked up without ever even sayin’ the word, a fuckin’ talent if ever he’s seen one. So Rio fixes him with a glare that would have any other one of his boys backpedalling, but Demon just meets it with a faux innocent look.

The warehouse is alive today – the hum of the money printing, the dryers whirring, the chatter of the women he’s got sorting through it all, tagging, bundling, getting it ready for distribution. He walks back inside, Demon on his heels, as he adds:

“Nuh, she don’t need to be.”

Not that she wouldn’t have insisted on it if she’d known the meeting was happening, but shit, he’d known she’d tried to sabotage it, one way or another. Found a way to make the arrangement untenable or – worse – gotten the first word and told Kane the plan had changed, that they weren’t going ahead, leaving Rio to override her in a way that made him look like he didn’t have a handle on his business or his partner, and leaving Elizabeth sullen and prickly and _pissed _at him.

Not that this won’t piss her off too when she finds out, but still. At least it’ll be done.

Plus it meant he didn’t have to deal with Kane’s leering, even if he did have to deal with the loaded comments on his own in there (“Damn, man, if I knew you were gonna pack up the floor show after we _nut out _the deal, I would’ve kept my dick off the table a little longer. Although I can be talked around if she’s waiting to come out with some champagne in a tight little number to help us celebrate.” Fucker had even winked, and Rio had had to stop himself from pulling out his gun.)

Now, Demon just gives him a look, and Rio sighs.

“She don’t like him.”

Demon just shrugs, stepping around a couple of the newer boys lugging bottles of polyvinyl alcohol for the cash manufacturing, like the news was about as much of a surprise to him as it was to Rio.

“Can’t say I blame her,” he says. “Kane’s a fuckin’ asshole.”

Huffing out an irritable breath, Rio pushes open the door to his office, Demon still on his heels, and pulls out his work cell. He still has Dags tailing a few of Kane’s boys, just keeping tabs, getting a sense of the guys Kane aligns himself with (none Rio would particularly rate, but there’s been no red flags in the months they’ve been doin’ it neither. At least, no red flags beyond the expected bullshit).

He pulls up the text chain from Dags, lets him know Kane’s left with the plans and the inventory lists, telling him to keep an ear out.

“You got a better hook up?” he asks, hitting send, and Demon shrugs.

“Didn’t say that. Just said I agreed with her. Kinda surprised you don’t.”

Which, right, Rio thinks, squinting a little at Demon, wondering briefly if Demon and Elizabeth had already talked about this, but - - no. They can’t have. Demon likes Elizabeth, but his loyalties lie with Rio. He’d have talked to him about this earlier if Elizabeth had said anything to him.

“I do,” Rio says after a minute, telling Demon just what he’d told her: “But it’s business, we ain’t havin’ him over for dinner.”

Demon shrugs again, like _sure_, and his quiet deference is enough to make Rio lose steam. He opens up his mouth to add something, what, he’s not sure, when his cell rings, only it ain’t the one in his hand. It’s the one in his pocket – the family line. He grunts, annoyed, swapping phones, and then only getting _more _annoyed when the Glenvale Elementary School number blears up at him.

He cusses gruffly, pressing it to his ear, ready to hear whatever Jane and Marcus have done now, only it ain’t their teacher. Ain’t even the school administrator. It’s the nurse. He sighs, trying to clock his frustration, only half-listening even as he grabs his keys to pick whichever kid it is up, when suddenly she says something about Daniel and a _hospital_.

“What?”

The nurse stutters to a stop on the other end of the line.

“Sorry?”

“Say that again.”

*

It’s the dean of students who meets him at the doors of the emergency room, red-cheeked and frizzy haired in a faded pinstripe skirt-suit. She starts towards him the second she sees him, but Rio strides past her, don’t even stop, just asks:

“Room?”

“Down the corridor,” she says, hurrying to match his step, and Rio lets her, eyeing off the bleached walls scattered with posters about flu shots and handwashing and not using cell phones. He strides past moaning kids and flusters parents, curved-backed elderly men coughing weakly into tissues. He walks a little faster.

“As soon as we realised the severity, we called an ambulance. They won’t tell me anything, of course, but I spoke to the doctor and she seems very nice, and not too worried, so - - ”

“You called his mom yet?”

He’s guessin’ not. Hadn’t seen her minivan in the carpark, and he hadn’t heard from her neither, which is pretty much all the confirmation he needs. He stops short when they come to a T-hallway at the end of the corridor, and Rio glances down at the dean, who flusters under the intensity of his gaze before gesturing them left.

“Not yet,” she confirms, finding her voice again, her heels clipping on the linoleum floors as she follows him. “Daniel was really quite insistent that we only call you.”

Rio’s frown deepens, picking up his pace, not quite sure what that means, as he side-steps a swell of nurses, pushing a loud, blubbering woman on a stretcher.

“It’s just this one down here,” she says, throwing a hand out. “On the right.”

With only a few steps left, Rio finds himself springing forwards, jittery with energy as he pushes open the door only to stop still at the sight that meets him.

Danny, of course, sitting sideways in the hospital bed, his legs swinging aimlessly over the edge as he cradles his arm – now in an electric blue cast – to his belly. He flushes a little when the woman beside him leans down, whisperin’ something or other in his ear, her dark hair plaited back off her face, and shit, he thinks, shoulders sagging, losing a tension he didn’t know they were holding.

Carmen.

His sister’s in her scrubs – must’ve been working, and when she finally looks up at him, clocks him in the doorway, she smiles, amused at the look that must be on his face, but fuck if he knows what it is. He huffs out a breath, striding across the room to crouch in front of Danny.

“You lucked out,” Carmen says. “I saw his name on the incoming patient list. Figured he might need a familiar face.”

Grinning shyly, Danny glances up at her as Carmen runs a hand back through his hair, the distraction enough to let Rio’s gaze flick over Danny’s body, checking for anything more than the cast on his arm. When he doesn’t see anything – at least nothing obvious – he sits back a little, reaching a hand out to gesture to the cast.

“What’s this, huh?” he asks, and Danny flushes to the roots of his hair, shrugs, looking away from him, and shit, Rio thinks, something too hot and too tight ballooning in his chest. He sucks on his teeth, waits a minute, and it’s Carmen in the end who breaks the silence.

“Dislocation and a wrist fracture,” she says, running a soothing hand down Danny’s back like he’s seen her do with her own kids, remembers her doin’ to _him_, back when he was young, dumb, breakable. The way she still tries to do sometimes, when he comes to her bloody. “Danny was very brave. Probably the bravest patient I’ve had all week.”

It’s enough to make Danny’s flush deepen, his fingers on his good hand playing a little with the edges of his cast.

“Ain’t surprised,” Rio tells her, keeping his tone light even though he feels anythin’ but. Fuck. Elizabeth’s gonna have herself a conniption. “He’s a tough one.”

He hooks a finger beneath Danny’s chin at that, bucking it up, and Danny lets him, even if he’s still doing everything he can not to look at him. Rio rocks his jaw, looks up at Carmen, who gives him a sympathetic look in reply.

“We good to go?” he asks her, and Carmen nods.

“Just need to go over the treatment plan with you, and you can sign him out.”

“Cool,” Rio says, getting to his feet. He pulls his cell out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“I’m gonna call your mama, and then we can head home, yeah?” he tells Danny, and it’s instant, Danny’s good hand suddenly grabbing his shirt, yanking at it with a force Rio didn’t know he had, and Rio stares down at him, surprised.

“No! Please don’t call mom.”

When Rio just stares, unsure what to say to that, Danny shakes his head furiously, eyes glassing over. He doesn’t look at Carmen, or the dean of students who he knows is still hovering in the doorway, just keeps his gaze fixed down on Danny.

“She’ll get upset,” Danny adds, an urgency in his voice, his face earnest and fuck, it ain’t like he’s wrong, but still:

“She’s gonna find out when she gets home tonight, you know that, right?”

Danny’s lower lip wobbles.

“I know, I just don’t want her _here_,” he says, and his voice is thick with tears now, and Rio sighs, running his hand back across his head.

“Danny,” he starts, voice gruffer than he means it to be, but no words come out. He’s still tryna formulate a plan in his head when Carmen gets up suddenly, looking back down at Danny.

“Why don’t we take a breath, yeah?” she says, nodding Rio out the door. “Ms. Harris, I’m sure you have some fun stories? You know, Danny’s really into frogs, so if you’ve got any on that, now’s the time to whip ‘em out.”

The dean – Ms. Harris – nods, bustling inside before dropping softly onto the bed as Carmen shepherds him outside. The last thing he hears before they round the corner is the woman saying:

“You know, I don’t actually know that much about frogs? So why don’t you tell me about your favourite types? I’d love to hear about them.”

Carmen strides a few feet down the hall, just enough that they’re out of earshot before sidling them both sideways against the wall, just out of the thoroughfare, but not really with an ounce of privacy. He dodges a power-walking nurse, as Carmen stares at him.

“It should heal fine within a couple of months,” she tells him, like she hadn’t just seen Danny meltdown about Elizabeth. “We were able to reduce the dislocation quickly, and the fracture really is pretty clean. He’s had some local anaesthetic for the reduction and some ibuprofen for the pain. His wrist’ll need to be iced every few hours over the next three days though, keep it elevated, preferably above his heart. The cast is going to get itchy too, but _please _don’t let him stick anything down it. The infections I’ve seen because some kid shoved a fork down there - -”

She trails off, waving a hand, and Rio snorts, runs a hand back over his skull again, because shit – he remembers that well enough himself. He racks his head, tryna remember if Elizabeth’s said anythin’ about her kids having had broken bones before. Nuh, he doesn’t think so. Annie, maybe, though.

Shit. He should call her. She’ll wanna know. She’d wanna _be here_, but Danny - -

Rio sucks in an irritated breath. 

“Chris, there’s something else.”

Rio blinks up to look at his sister again, sees her shuffle, shift her weight, like she’s thinking of the best way to say something, before finally biting the bullet and just sayin’ it.

“Where the fracture is…” she says, shaking her head a little to herself. “I think he was pushed. I tried to talk to him about it, but he’s as tight lipped as you are, but - - the force behind the fall, the angle to dislocate his wrist like that - - it has to be. Now it could just be kids messing around, but - - ”

“Yeah, Danny ain’t a kid who’s _messin’ around_,” Rio says, jaw clenched tight, fingers twitching, because he ain’t – at least not like that. Rio’s seen rougher butterflies. He rubs a hand furiously across his forehead, something hot sparking at the thought of it, of some kid comin’ up behind him, of Danny - - as oblivious as his mama.

His cell vibrates in his back pocket, and Rio resists the urge to grab it as Carmen taps her head lightly against the wall, pushing her shoulder into it before she pushes back off it, standing up straight again.

“He had pencil lead in his palm. We had to pull it out with tweezers. It was like he’d been writing or drawing or something when it happened,” she says, and Rio stares at her, unblinking, cell buzzing again in his pocket. “You should talk to him. He clearly adores you and he wanted _you _here, not his dad, not even Beth. I think he feels _safe_ with - - ”

His cell vibrates a third time, and Rio yanks it out of his jeans, cussing gruffly when he sees a chain of texts from Dags.

_Kane met with Cygnus_. _Think he’s heading back to the warehouse_.

And then - - a picture, Kane smiling wide, striding out of some hole-in-the-wall bar, Cygnus still visible through the window behind him.

“Chris,” Carmen says, voice terse. “Christopher, are you fucking kidding me?”

His cell vibrates again, this time with a message from Demon:

_Need you back here now. _

“Take him _home, _okay? I’ll text you the treatment plan for him, since maybe you’ll actually fucking_ listen_ to me then.”

Her tone is sharp, but everything’s just too fucking _tight _right now, the elastic of his patience pulled, and he nods at her, opens his mouth to tell her somethin’ – thank you or fuck off, he doesn’t know, when his cell vibrates in his hand again. 

_Kane’s back. _

*

“So I’ve got to wait in your office?” Danny asks, his eyes a little glazed, and it shouldn’t be from the pain. Carmen had given him another hit of somethin’ before they’d left the hospital, and so Rio just nods, opening the trunk of his car. 

“Just for a minute, yeah? While I sort somethin’ out, and then I’m gonna take you home and we can get some ice on that wrist, put somethin’ on the TV.”

“Voltron?”

“Sure,” Rio says amicably, glancing sideways at the warehouse as he grabs Danny’s book and the lunch Elizabeth had packed him for school out of his backpack, locking up, and dropping a hand to Danny’s shoulder, guiding him into the building. He’s already called ahead, got Demon to take Kane into one of the meeting rooms – try to figure out what the fuck he wants, while Rio gets Danny settled in his office, out of sight, leave him there with Cisco, and it’ll be fine, he tells himself, exhaling. He just needs to get Kane organised and _out_.

Can do it quick, like it never happened, can get Danny at home doped up on kiddy morphine and watching robots fight on TV.

Thing is, he’d almost called her then and there after Carmen had stomped back off to Danny’s hospital room. Had even pulled up her contact, thinking about dropping Danny over at the dealership, away from all this bullshit, but he knows her day’s busy anyway, and calling her would mean telling her _all _of it – about Kane and shit, he looks down at Danny, who’s nursing his wrist, walking forwards almost in a daze, remembers him clutching his shirt, thinks of the lead in his palm, and Rio rocks his jaw, takes the steps two at a time as he leads him in.

In and out, he reminds himself, then he can tell Elizabeth at home, when she’s got Danny in front of her to fuss over and himself in front of her to be pissed at, and right, he thinks.

That’s it.

Cisco’s already waiting at the door (good fuckin’ man), has pulled a box of gummy worms out of who knows where that has Danny’s eyes brightening as he takes him off his hands, and Rio waits until he sees them through to his office – Danny pausing at the door, a look on his face that Rio can’t read, before they’re out of sight. Rio turns on his heel, striding back out across the warehouse floor, ignoring the chatter of staff and the whir of machinery as he bounds up a short flight of stairs to their meeting room, anger sparking in his gut, locking in his joints.

The ignition of it evens out to a steady, thrumming anger when he slips into the meeting room to see Kane sitting down, his legs spread, his tie off, a big, asshole smile on his face, and shit, he really does look like some frat boy who’s fallen outta daddy’s wallet. Rio rolls his shoulders back, all quiet, easy, blue flame rage.

“You forget somethin’?”

Kane laughs, and Rio watches as Kane kicks out the chair opposite him, gesturing for him to sit down. Rio doesn’t so much as twitch – he don’t need to – but Demon does from the back of the room, eyeing Kane off carefully from behind, and shit, how dumb is this guy? Letting anyone that ain’t his stand behind him.

“Grab a seat, man,” Kane says, tilting his chin down to the chair like Rio’s missed the invitation, like Kane has any fucking right to _offer _one, and Rio shakes his head.

“I’m good.”

“Oh, come on.” With that, Kane leans across the table, a broad smirk on his face. “If we’re in business together, we should be able to shoot the shit together, y’know?”

He can feel Demon’s gaze on him at that – like that ain’t what both him and Elizabeth had been sayin’ all along – but Rio ain’t inclined to agree. That’s not what this is, and he rolls his shoulders back, rocks his jaw a little, before dropping all of it.

“Why are you here?”

His tone is curt, abrupt – no bullshit – and Kane at least seems to be smart enough to pick up on it, to adapt. He sits back in his seat, staring for a minute, before deciding to apparently cut the bullshit too.

“There’s been a development.”

“In an hour?” Rio asks dryly, and Kane shrugs, delighted with himself, and fuck. If this guy didn’t have the connections he had - - Rio clenches his jaw.

“What can I say, I work quickly,” Kane says, leaning back in his seat, dropping his hands to his belly, threading them there, like sausages in a butcher shop window, which, huh, Rio thinks, ain’t a bad place to start. He knows Demon’ll have somethin’ on him that’ll cut through the bone in a pinch. Thinks it all the more when Kane adds: “If we can work this out, that speed will just be another asset to you.”

He says it like this really is a _development_. Like Rio wouldn’t fucking know. Hadn’t figured it out from Dags’ message – Kane using the brief plans on that USB stick to prove he had Rio’s interest, negotiate Cygnus to a higher price, then coming back here, using that leverage to negotiate him and his, so he ain’t surprised when Kane suddenly leans forwards and says:

“Just spoke to Cygnus. He’s offering me forty for the same deal.”

Internally, Rio scoffs, almost amused beneath the blue flame of his anger. So fuckin’ predictable.

“Thought you weren’t talkin’ to anybody else,” he says lightly, and Kane looks briefly surprised that that’s where Rio’s gone, before he covers it up. He shrugs, smug fuckin’ asshole.

“I wasn’t, but now I am.”

He throws the words down like a gauntlet – like something Rio should be threatened by, like this fucking asshole is more than what he is, and it takes all Rio has not to let it cross his features. To not scoff, hiss, pull out his gun.

Instead, he just tilts his head, wanders forwards before leaning himself over the table, letting himself rest eyelevel with Kane. He clasps his anger between his hands as he pushes them together, dropping them heavily to the table.

“Cygnus' business ain’t stable.”

Whatever Kane had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. Kane flusters back briefly, before coming back in strong.

“No, but it’s bigger.”

“Falls harder,” Rio counters easily. “And you know it has before. Cygnus' done hard time more than once, and he ain’t the sort to leave business runnin’ when he ain’t there to run it. That last shutdown was what?”

“Six years,” Demon supplies helpfully, and Rio rolls his shoulders, twists it into a shrug, gaze flicking back to Kane.

“Six years without a job,” Rio agrees. “Shit, man, I dunno know about you, but that’s a risk I’d be thinkin’ real careful about makin’, coz you get into bed with Cygnus, you ain’t gettin’ into anybody else’s.”

It’s enough to make Kane wobble uneasily in his seat, and shit, Rio thinks, amusement comin’ through a little stronger now. This guy ain’t thought this through. Still, the guy sits up straighter, narrows his eyes at him, like there’s anything intimidating about his frat boy vibe.

“Funny, I seem to remember your face on the news a few years ago,” Kane says snidely. “Something about an arrest.”

“Charges were dropped,” Rio tosses out, standing back up. “Business wasn’t.”

With that, he steps around the desk, pulling his gun out of the back of his pants, revelling a little in the way Kane pushes his chair back only to have it stopped by Demon’s foot. Rio strides around the table, resting his ass back against it as he stares Kane down, gun held loosely in front of him.

“See, you’re thinkin’ about this all wrong, man,” Rio says. “You’re sittin’ here thinkin’ you got bargainin’ power, that you hold all those cards coz you know a few people, but thing is, you ain’t got nothin’ _but _those people.”

Kane’s expression sours, and Rio smiles at him, all teeth, and it’s sudden then, Elizabeth’s voice in his ear, and - - huh. She can’t ever say he don’t listen to her.

“You ain’t got nobody loyal to you, because nobody _likes_ you,” he tells him. “Knowin’ what you know, it gets your foot in the door, but it don’t keep you in the buildin’. Bein’ in business with me and Elizabeth might change that, but bein’ in business with Cygnus? Givin’ him what I gave you today? You’ll always be knockin’, and this,” he gestures between them with his gun. “This door won’t open again. Not to you.”

The air feels thick in the room between them, and Kane just stares at him, and shit – he gotta respect that. The guy’s gaze don’t even flick to his gun, and he can see him. Ticking it over. Can see it too – the moment that he folds.

“Thirty five,” he says, and Rio just smiles.

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-three.”

“Thirty,” Rio says again, laughing roughly. “This ain’t a negotiation. We done that already. You get your thirty, or you get nothin’. Stop wastin’ my time.”

The hum of the air conditioner sounds loud in their ears, and he feels it too, at his neck, at his fingers, and he lets himself listen, lets himself feel it, waiting for Kane to reply.

“Thirty it is,” he says finally, and Rio nods, rising up from the table.

“Cool. Now get the fuck out.”

It takes a minute for Kane to get to his feet, and Rio waits him out, giving him his full attention just so Kane can squirm beneath it. The air almost potent between them as Kane submits, and by the time he finally gets to his feet, Demon’s already holding the door open for him. And he wishes it felt like anything more than a frustration, the moment the guy slinks out past ‘em, and Rio huffs out a breath when he knows the guy is out of earshot, striding past Demon and following the guy out.

He’ll ask Dags to tail him personally for a while, the decision made in his head as the three of them walk down the steps to the meeting rooms and back out across the warehouse floor to the entrance. Maybe even see what Dags can dig up on the guy himself, he thinks snidely, get all his dirty laundry out in the open, all his - -

The electric blue of a cast and a flash of blond hair catches in the corner of his eye, and Rio’s head jerks around in time to see Danny waving at him across the warehouse floor.

“Rio! I saved you the green gummies!”

The second he says it, Cisco’s there, bursting outta his office like he hadn’t even realised the kid was gone, hauling Danny up and pulling him back, and Rio can barely breathe as he strides forwards, grabbing Kane by the back of his shirt and dragging him towards the exit, but shit, the guy’s bigger than he looks, moves slower, and Rio can see the cogs turning, can see it all over the fucker’s face, and he just wishes Cisco would get Danny back into his office faster and - - worse, wishes it was one of the other ones – Kenny or Emma or even Jane, one of the kids who looks less like Elizabeth, because he can see it. The moment on Kane’s face when he realises.

“Fuck, don’t tell me that’s her kid?” he asks, barking on a laugh, as Rio shoves him towards the door, fury sparking in his gut, but it ain’t at Kane, can’t be. Kane’s not the one who brought Danny here. Something unfamiliar unravels in his gut, something that feels like - -

Rio pushes Kane forwards a little harder.

“See, _that _makes more sense to me,” Kane adds, tryna put a cap on his laughter. “She’s just got a _mommy _vibe, right? She here then? Doesn’t want to see me anymore? Fuck, man, I didn’t mean to scare her out of the meeting room for you.”

Rio ignores him, pushing him out the door, feeling the Detroit air nip at his ears, his neck, jerks the guy across the carpark to his still-ugly-as-shit Lamborghini.

“Gotta say though, that attitude on her. Didn’t think she’d scare that easy, you know what I mean? Like she looks pretty soft, but once you get her going, she’s a real bitch, huh? Bet she’s a killer in the sack. You gotten her there yet? Bet you have.”

And he can’t help it then, he has to let go of the guy – just can’t be holding onto him no more with his stiff, twitching hands. He sucks in a furious breath, arm pulling back for his gun, when Demon steps up behind him, replacing Rio’s grip with his own.

Kane feels the difference, swivelling on the spot. 

“I can get myself out, thanks.”

“Can you?” Rio scoffs, and Kane looks back at him, and it ain’t good - - the way he looks at him.

“She’s a sore point for you, huh?”

“She’s my business partner. You disrespectin’ her means you disrespectin’ me,” Rio tells him, gesturing towards Kane’s car. “We done here.”

And Kane leaves at least, even if he does look back at Rio before he gets in his car, his eyes back up to the warehouse, flicking back to where Rio’s office is behind the wall - - where _Danny _is, says, “Enjoy your gummies,” and just - -

_Fuck_.

*

He’s fixing the new icepack in the kitchen for Danny’s wrist when he hears Elizabeth’s keys in the front door, hears her chattin’ on her cell, tone exasperated in a way that tells him it’s gotta be Annie on the line. It’s almost seven already – Elizabeth had gotten held up at the dealership – an issue with one of the pill cars or one of their runners that she’d insisted on seeing to herself, sent as much over text with the direction to order the kids pizza for dinner, and Rio had been more than happy to leave it at that, prolonging the inevitable for tonight.

After Kane had left, he’d had to be alone, striding back through the warehouse and back up to the now-empty meeting room, jittery with anger – at himself, at Kane, at the whole fuckin’ _situation_, and he’d still been pacing when Demon had come up, stood square opposite and told him to snap out of it and take his kid home.

And he had, mostly. The afternoon passing by in a blur. By the time he’d gotten Danny packed up and in the backseat of his car, it was time to pick the rest of the kids up from school anyway, so he did the rounds to Glenvale, piling the kids in, letting Danny flush with excitement as he told them about his x-ray and showed off his cast – Jane and Marcus both radiating envy.

It had been easy then at home too – to get the kids doing homework around the dining room table, while he set Danny up on his own in the family room, _Voltron_ blaring chaotically on the TV while Rio alternated between organising snacks, and later dinner and bathtime, all the while texting Dags about keepin’ up the tail, and Demon about running tonight’s cash out to their distributors.

And now here they were, he thinks, skin prickling with anticipation as he slips into the family room to put the icepack on Danny’s arm, ruffling Marcus’ hair as he goes (all the kids are in there now, sprawled out and cleaned up), before striding down the hallway to meet Elizabeth halfway.

She’s still bustlin’, toeing off her pumps at the door and flexing her feet against the floor, groaning when she finally flattens them. He reaches for her bag, helping it off her shoulder, and she just smiles, exhales, exhausted.

“We really need to talk about that friend of Cisco’s we hired,” she says in lieu of hello, reaching a hand to her shoulder to massage it lightly. “She’s _never _on time, and I think her driver’s licence might be fake? She was like - - _cagey _with me when she showed it to me, and tonight she almost ran one of the cars into the gate trying to get it out of the lot.”

Rio hums, leaning sideways into the wall, drops his hands, still holding her purse, and he just watches as she pulls off her blazer, smoothing her hair down at the back. She looks tired, but that ain’t a surprise, he thinks, adjusting his grip on her handbag strap.

“There’s pizza in the oven,” he tells her, and Elizabeth makes a happy noise in the back of her throat, leaning up to peck him on the lips, but before she can stride past him, he drops a hand to her waist, keeping her still.

“Somethin’ happened at school today, ma,” he says, keeping his voice low, and shit, he sees it, the second she processes what he’s said, the way her breath catches, her eyes widen – don’t blink at all, then blink too much. She tightens under his hand, moves to get past him, eyes already over his shoulder, already searching for the kids, but he tightens his grip on her waist and pulls her hard back in front of him. “It’s all good now, yeah? So you don’t gotta worry, but Danny broke his wrist.”

“_What_?”

And he opens his mouth to keep going – to tell her what Carmen said, to tell her, again, that he’s okay, but she’s somehow pulled herself out of his grip, is close to running down the hallway towards the family room, and he spins in time to see her drop to her knees in front of Danny on the couch, her face torn open. She moves a hand to tenderly touch his cast, before reaching for him and pulling him tight into her chest.

Shit, even from here, he can see the tears she’s blinking back starting to clump her mascara, can see her swallowing thickly, wetly, and it’s only a minute before Jane climbs off the couch to plaster herself to her mother’s back, hugging her tight.

Rio drops her purse heavily to the sideboard, running his tongue along his teeth, the image of Kane flashing in his head making somethin’ twist in him as he heads into the kitchen to fix her a plate. 

*

“I’m going to go in and talk to the school in the morning when I drop the kids off,” she tells him, her hands fiddling, tryna undo the clasp on her necklace as she gets ready for bed. “I should’ve been the first call they made.”

“Danny didn’t want ‘em to,” he replies, sitting up in their bed, watching her. After she’d calmed down, made sure Danny was okay, she’d called that dumbass ex of hers, and Rio didn’t know what they talked about, just knows it took almost an hour and Elizabeth had insisted on doing it outside on her own, away from the kids, away from him. She hadn’t touched the pizza – hadn’t had anything for dinner but a fat glass of bourbon, and Rio had sat with the kids, watching her through the window while the kids watched TV.

“He’s nine-years-old, he doesn’t know what he wants.”

“Ten next week,” Rio tells her, because he is, and Elizabeth nods jerkily, her hair tangled up in her necklace chain. His fingers drum against the sheets below him, and before he can help it, he thinks of Kane again, looking back up at his office, eyes burning, like he could see Danny through the wall. His fingers drum a little harder. 

“Right, I should cancel the zoo.”

Which - -

Rio thrusts his tongue into his cheek, sitting up a little straighter, watching her. She’s already pulled off her slacks, her blouse, standing there in the bedroom in her underwear and her camisole, tryna get ready to shower and doing a bad job of it. He rocks a little forwards, tries to swallow the impulse to tell her that that ain’t gonna be somethin’ they do. Instead, he asks:

“Why?”

It’s enough to make her hands get a little more frenetic, jerking at the chain, accidentally pulling out a few strands of strawberry blonde hair. She glances back at him, gaze firmer than it has any right to be, rigid, and he meets it head-on.

“He can’t go with a fractured wrist,” she says before looking away, back towards her dresser, shifting away from him until all he can see is the slope of her back and the pale curve of her ass, just poking out from beneath her pink polka dot panties. “We can do something at home instead.”

And ain’t that an idea? After Emma’s party at that sparklin’ fairy grotto experience, and Marcus’ at the indoor trampoline park. Rio huffs out a breath, sliding off the bed.

“He’s lookin’ forward to it.”

“Well, we can do it next year. He’s going to have plenty more birthdays.”

And he can’t exactly help it then - - his words sharper than he maybe means, still just so fuckin’ _on edge_ from this day.

“You can’t punish him for gettin’ hurt.”

Elizabeth hisses, something loud and feral, tearing out of her throat like an animal. She almost turns, but stops herself, fingers working harder, rougher, on the necklace clasp.

“I’m not _punishing _him,” she says, almost shrill. “I’m keeping him _safe_.”

Rio scoffs, loud, that strange feeling twitching in his gut again, beneath his skin, the memory of Cisco manhandling a confused Danny back into the office stuttering in his head, and it feels like maybe it ain’t entirely about her when he says:

“How? By lockin’ him up? Mami, that ain’t - -” 

It’s sudden, the way Elizabeth spins around, hands clasped so hard around her necklace chain her knuckles are white, face twisted in anger.

“How could you not call me? You would’ve been _furious _with me if I hadn’t told you Marcus was hurt.”

And - -

_Fuck_.

He rocks his jaw, looks away, coz it ain’t like she’s wrong. Shit, even the thought sets him further on edge, and he knows that ain’t right, ain’t fair to her given she ain’t the one who’s done it. _He_ is, but still - -

“Kid asked me not to,” he tells her quietly, and Elizabeth scoffs, loud, pained, finally pulling her hands down from her necklace, dropping them down to her sides like twin dead-weights.

“Please. That kid also asks for ice cream for breakfast, which you’ve never had a problem saying no to.”

Rio scowls at her, walking closer, and at least the quick thread of his anger is easy again to grip.

“Oh, they the same thing, huh? Okay.”

She makes a terse noise at that, not quite a scoff, something rougher and more controlled all at once as she turns away from him again, her hands reaching back for the clasp on her necklace, and it ain’t even tangled, not really, just this close he can see her fingers shaking.

“Don’t do that,” she says. “Don’t deliberately misunderstand me.”

He stops, licks his lips, rubs a hand over his head.

“He didn’t want me to call you,” he tells her. “What the fuck did you want me to do, huh? He was hurtin’.”

Elizabeth reels on him again, her face naked, open, ripped raw, and she snaps like a fuckin’ glowstick.

“I want you to _call me_ when my child is in the hospital, I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

He just looks at her for a minute, that feeling in the lowest part of his belly growing, twisting up in him, and shit, he can’t even look at her. He shakes his head.

“Fine,” he says, and at least the concession knocks the wind out of her. Her shoulders sag, and she blinks a little rapidly, a tear pearling briefly before she swipes it roughly away. Before her hand can go back to the necklace, Rio turns her around, batting her hands away and gently disentangling her hair from the chain, releasing the clasp for her, his fingers smoothing over the skin on the back of her neck there, and he wants her to hear something of an apology in it, fuck, _needs_ her to.

Her own hand comes to his, fingers snaking beneath his own and briefly – blissfully – he thinks she’s gonna entangle them with his, moves his hand enough to do it, but she doesn’t. She pries his hand off her neck and slips out from beneath his touch, heading towards their en suite and closing the door behind her.

She doesn’t look back.

*

Thing is, she ain’t there in the morning neither.

Not beside him anyway, his hands reaching for her as they too often do, only this time coming away with a handful of twisted sheet instead of a handful of her. He finds himself out of bed before he can stop himself, down the hall, stopping only in front of Danny’s room.

And she’s there of course, lying down in bed beside him, her eyes open, exhaustion etched into the lines of her face like she hasn’t slept all night, even as Danny snores softly beside her, pale and sweet faced like some sort of fuckin’ Rembrandt cherub. She tucks a strand of blond hair behind his ear, and she hasn’t even seen him, Rio thinks, briefly amused, but then he thinks of her slipping out of his grip, the pencil lead in Danny’s palm, he thinks of Kane, staring up at that room, thinks of all the ways he can’t tell her that, and any amusement is swallowed whole.

*

Sometimes he wonders if she’s got a spell on him.

It’s the only explanation he can come up with, only reason he thinks he could be sitting here at their kitchen island, watching her small, pale hands turn cakepops into frogs, slathering them with green, buttercream frosting, hand crafting marzipan eyes. The cake itself is some lush, two-story thing with soft blue frosting that almost laps like water, lily pads cut out of fondant, bulrushes she’s made, somehow, out of skewers and chocolate bullets.

She works so intently, so carefully, the thing coming together like a plot, and there’s just somethin’ _good_, something that sits right in him in watching her pull it off.

And okay, maybe he’s staring, but he don’t even really think anything of it until Elizabeth’s gaze darts up to him, once, twice, maybe three times.

“I want to drop this off at the restaurant as soon as we get to the zoo so that Danny doesn’t see it.”

Rio hums, gaze flicking outside to where Danny’s lying on the back deck in the sun, Buddy’s head on his belly, his cast – now scribbled all over by his siblings and the kids at school – hanging heavily over the dog’s shoulders.

It’s been more than a week since everything happened, and they haven’t quite eased back into their groove, even if Elizabeth’s pointedly refused to bring it up again, and Rio’s not entirely inclined to open up the fight neither. Doesn’t want to quite poke at that stranger feeling still uncurling in his gut every time he looks at Danny, that spikes every time he looks at her, looking at Danny. He rocks his jaw, watching her fingers mould another ball of cake.

“I can take it.”

But she just shakes her head.

“No, I’ve got - - I know how I want it to come out, and I need to make sure they have the right sort of candles and - - hm, maybe I’ll just take some of those too. You should take the kids, show them the penguins and then I’ll catch up with you.”

There are words burning on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down, watching as Elizabeth’s eyes flick past his shoulder down into the dining room, and Rio follows her gaze to where Emma’s setting the table with Kenny for lunch, their voices quiet as they talk about their favourite contestants on some singing competition show he ain’t been paying much attention to.

“It needs to be perfect,” Elizabeth says, and Rio blinks back around to look at her, watches her swallow thickly, her hands now balled into fists on the kitchen island, the food colouring staining her fingers green and it’s her voice, terse again, in his head _how could you not call me? _

He says okay.

*

“I don’t wanna.”

He arches an eyebrow at that, staring down at Jane in the driveway, dressed in some pale blue, floral dress her mama’s put her in which Rio thinks is about the dumbest thing she coulda done, but he wasn’t about to say it again. (“It’s Danny’s birthday,” she’d insisted, doing up the buttons on the back of Emma’s dress while Rio ironed the boys’ dress shirts. “I want nice photos.”

“Well, you better take ‘em fast because you’re lyin’ to yourself if you think Jane’s gonna keep that thing clean at the zoo.”

And to be fair, Elizabeth had managed to take some pretty dope ones in the yard before they’d started to move.) 

“No? Thought you wanted to see some zebras.”

“I _do_,” Jane insists with a pout. “I don’t wanna do _that_.”

Throwing out a skinny little arm, Rio don’t even have to look back at the car where Elizabeth is getting Emma and Danny into their booster seats in the third row (Elizabeth had gotten in too fast – leaving him with Jane and Marcus, a fuckin’ punishment if he’s ever seen one – proof enough that she ain’t let him off the hook yet for not calling her about Danny’s wrist) to know Jane’s talking about her carseat.

Since Marcus’ latest growth spurt, Jane’s the only one of the kids left in a combination carseat, something she’s taken about as well as Jane takes anything that - - well. Anything.

“I kinda miss the carseat,” Marcus offers beside her, shrugging lightly, and Jane gives him a disbelieving look that coulda been torn straight off her mama’s face. “You get your own cup holder and it’s way softer.”

“See?” Rio says, looking back at Jane, who sniffs, unimpressed, back up at him. “You should enjoy it while you got it, darlin’. Any day now you gonna grow and you ain’t gonna be able to fit it no more.”

Well, not really. Shit, she’s gotta get to four-foot-nine to be bumped up and the kid is barely four-two.

Jane don’t look entirely sold at that, like she knows just how much growin’ she’s got left, but she lets Rio lean down to grab her under the arms anyway, only squirming a little as he buckles her in. He looks around behind him to see Marcus, promptly hauling him over his shoulder just to hear him laugh as he heads around to the other side of the car to get him onto his own booster.

Would, at least, if he could get much past Elizabeth, who’s still hovering over the back seat talking to Danny.

“And if it gets too much, you just tell us,” he hears her say. “We can come _straight _home.”

“I know, mom.”

“Any pain – new pain, old pain, different sort of pain, you need to tell me _right _away, okay?”

“I _know,_ mom.”

“And don’t push yourself either. We can always go back to the zoo another time, and - -”

Rio hooks a finger into the back of her dress, tugging her lightly back. 

“Think he knows, ma,” he whispers, not loud enough for the kids to hear, and he can see her flush, but she lets him pull her out of the doorway of the car, push the seat back, grab the booster off Kenny and set Marcus up in his seat. When he’s done, he smacks the hand not still hooked in the back of Elizabeth’s dress down on the roof of the minivan.

“We gettin’ excited?”

It’s enough to get all the kids hollering – even Kenny lifts his head up from his cell long enough to beam at him, and Rio grins, drumming his fingers on the roof.

“You figured out what we’re seein’ first?”

The eruption of chatter at that makes Rio grin, and he closes the car door on them as they start arguing over lions and penguins. It’s barely clicked shut before Elizabeth shifts, starting towards the driver’s seat, and he uses his hand in her dress to gently tug her back to him.

“How ‘bout you, ma?” he asks softly, aiming for playful, pulling her back into his chest. “You gettin’ excited?”

He knows the answer even before she twists in his arms, her shoulder pushing into his sternum.

“He looks pale,” she says. “Do you think he looks pale? I think he looks pale.”

Rio sigh, glances through the back window at where Danny’s smiling, arguing with Emma, and he don’t look pale – not anymore than any kid that’s come out of Elizabeth does – but he looks - - tired, he thinks. He rocks his jaw a little, glancing back down at Elizabeth, who finally looks back up at him, her blue eyes big, her lips a gnawed red.

“Doc said yesterday it was healin’ nicely.”

“He also said he needed rest.”

“And he’ll get it when we get home,” he tells her, biting back his exasperation. They’ve had this conversation at least three times this week, and he’d figured they’d have settled with the kids literally in the car. “Doctor didn’t have an issue with this. We asked him, remember?”

Beth sighs, and Rio huffs out a breath, gaze flicking back to the car, and shit - - Danny’s looking at them now through the glass, his face cautious, and Rio grips Beth’s arms, spinning her properly into him, before bucking her chin up to look at him too.

“You gotta relax on this one,” he tells her, and Elizabeth’s eyes spark, her lips pursing in insult which ain’t what he meant exactly, but still. “Stressin’ over it ain’t gonna do nothin’ but get him worked up.”

She opens her mouth then to argue somethin’ or other, and he reaches a hand up to brush a finger across her cheek, gently pushing her hair back behind her ear, and it works like a charm, her deflating, defeating. She adjusts her grip on her purse, reaching a hand in to grab her car keys, and fiddling with them for too long, before she says:

“I know,” she huffs out a breath, keys jangling in her hand. “I hate myself for thinking this, but it would be easier if it was one of the other kids. None of them would _stop _talking about it. With Danny, it’s just impossible. He won’t tell me anything.”

And Rio resists the urge to snort, because shit – where’d he learn that from? He resists the urge to look back at the car too, instead using the hand still on her face to cup her chin and pull her up for a kiss. She melts into it, and Rio uses her momentary distraction to pinch the car keys from her fingers, grinning when she squawks a little against his mouth.

“Today’ll be good,” he tells her, and Elizabeth rolls her eyes, but the slight, upward tug of her lips feels like a prize.

*

The penguin shakes, and water flies.

It’s enough to make Jane and Emma both squeal, bouncing on their toes to see over the barricade, and Rio grabs Jane easily, swinging her up onto his shoulders to see, before gesturing Emma over to stand on his feet. He holds her hands as she does it, stepping up so tall on her tiptoes when she bucks her head back, it hits him square in his ribcage.

The zoo’s crowded, thick with families, with reckless running kids and calling parents already at the end of their ropes. The air heavy with the smell of sweat and sunscreen, with the wet-dog-animal-shit smell Elizabeth complained about. Rio lets go of one of Emma’s hands to reach behind him for Danny’s shoulder, pulling him in closer when a particularly rowdy family takes up more space than they should beside them.

He flicks his gaze over at them, before looking back at where the penguins dive beneath the water’s surface, shooting through it like arrows, like bullets, he thinks, and the thought sparks in him, scratches at his throat, and he shifts, back, gripping Danny a little tighter. Stupid, he thinks, but still. His gaze flicks out around again before he locks onto Kenny, standing next to a girl, pink cheeked as he says somethin’ or other.

“I want one,” Jane says above him, and Rio looks up at her.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because they’re cool,” Jane tells him, like it’s obvious, swinging her legs so that her little heels gently knock his chest. Rio moves his hand to still her ankle, mostly so she doesn’t accidentally kick her sister in the head. She pouts. “When’s Marcus coming back?”

It hadn’t been much of a surprise – Marcus insisting on helping Elizabeth take the cake to the zoo’s restaurant. He’d helped her make some of it after all, and Marcus is nothin’ if not thorough. Likes being involved in things at every step of the process. It’s good, he thinks, even if Elizabeth always rolls her eyes at it (“A control freak, just like his daddy,” she’d told him once in bed, and Rio had laughed gruffly at her, said: “Call me that again, mami.”)

“Soon, darlin’. We’re meetin’ ‘em at the red pandas, remember?”

“We should go now then,” she tells him. “They might be there already.”

“Got a few things to see in-between.”

The kids don’t seem bothered by that though, and so Rio coaxes Emma down off his feet, and starts them off in the general direction of the red pandas. He keeps Jane on his shoulders (best way he can think of not to lose track of her) and moves them through. The zoo seems to open up for them, and Danny treats every space almost reverently, tracing the movements of the birds and the butterflies and the otters with his eyes as his sisters babble and Kenny drags his feet, tryna chat up girls too old for him.

And even if he’s missing Elizabeth and Marcus both, there’s somethin’ about this that just feels _good_. Feels right, like there ain’t nowhere else he’s supposed to be. This place, it’s just so alive around him, the faceless mass of people, the tooth, claw, stingers of the wildlife, the kids - - _his _kids - - almost vibrating with awe, and he blinks and it’s him and them, and he blinks and it’s him and Carmen and Aida, his dad smiling above them, face weathered, telling them some kangaroos have adapted to live in trees, that giraffes have the same number of bones in their neck as people, that jackal fathers mate for life and love their kids, (“Just like me, mijo,” he’d say every time, pulling Rio into his side until he jerked, embarrassed, pulling away. Now? Now he just exhales, the memory sitting in his mouth like a stone.)

They stop at the aviaries to see bright feathererd parrots and the hook-beaked nightjars that make Jane talk too loud about his tattoo. At the lemurs, Rio has to pull Danny back from the meshed side of the cage to stop him climbing in with excitement, and even Kenny’s impressed at the springing step of the fallow deer when they sidestep through the South America section to watch the long-necked guanacos yawn.

“You know how they like to fight?” he asks Emma when they stop. She blinks wildly up at him, her long, dark hair catching the mid-morning light. She shakes her head. Not her head, at least not _just _her head, her whole body swaying, party dress catching in the breeze. Rio grins, gripping Jane’s ankles, still hanging over his shoulders, as he leans down towards Emma. He lowers his voice conspiratorially, says: “Biting each other’s front legs,” before he turns around to gently bite Jane’s ankle, hearing her squawk up above him.

It makes Emma gasp in surprise, then a giggle erupt from her throat, and Rio grins, watching as she swivels around to watch the guanacos again, bouncing a little before surging up on her tiptoes, and almost careening into Danny beside her. Rio’s opening his mouth to tell her to be careful, when a small hand touches his back.

Before he even has the chance to jerk his head around, he hears Jane yell “Mommy!” above him, and shit, Rio thinks, turning properly, this ain’t where they’d organised to meet. Any thought beyond that dies though when he sees her.

It just - -

It’s not what he expects.

That’s all.

The gentle tilt to her chin, the lift to her lips, a softness to her features and a sheen to her blue eyes that makes him wet his lips. She’s too much sometimes, he thinks. Too beautiful, like some Madonna dressed in floral, her shoulders pinking from the morning heat, her body curved like a promise, crooked like a beckoning finger, and it ain’t right. What she does to him.

“Thought we were meeting at the red pandas,” she says, breaking the spell, but there’s not an accusation in it, nothin’ like that. Her gaze fixed on him, despite her children, something in her look that feels different, something just - - so _soft, _and Rio shrugs. 

“Me too,” he hums in reply. “I was outvoted, ma.”

It’s enough to make her laugh, and he watches as Marcus waves up to Jane, feels her fidgeting on his shoulders, and he finally swings her off them. Before she can run off with Marcus, he grabs the sleeve of her dress, making her stop.

“We’re playin’ ten steps,” he tells her and Marcus. “You remember how that goes?”

Jane rolls her eyes, but Marcus nods.

“If we’re more than ten steps away from you, we lose.”

“That’s right,” he says, and behind him, he can feel Elizabeth roll her eyes, amused, and shit, if that doesn’t feel good. Feels like _them _again.

“What do we get if we win?” Jane asks, rocking up on her tiptoes, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her.

“You won’t have to pay for lunch,” he replies easily, and Jane squawks in a way that makes Elizabeth laugh behind him, but still. They count their steps loudly as they walk away, and Rio stands up straighter, looking back at Elizabeth.

“Café okay?”

And maybe it’s the wrong question, because she wrinkles her nose. Maybe it’s the right one, because she leans a little into his space.

“Depends what you define as okay,” she tells him, voice low and conspiratorial. “The floor was sticky and it charged me almost five-dollars for a bottle of water, but sure. The cake’s there, our reservation’s looking good. They tied some balloons to the chairs, which is pretty cute.”

Rio nods, and Elizabeth looks past him, and her face shifts, and he don’t even gotta follow her gaze to know she’s looking at Danny. Her eyelashes flutter, and he watches her as she wets her lips, swallows thickly, her hands coming up to his shoulders, and then suddenly she’s on her tiptoes, kissing him softly, sweetly on the lips. He furrows his brow, looking down at her.

“What’s that for?”

“For not letting me cancel,” she says, and Rio arches an eyebrow, dropping his hands to her hips, pulling her gently against him. “You all looked really sweet.”

“’m outta the doghouse then, huh?”

“God no,” she replies with a scoff which makes him laugh, but when she leans up to kiss him this time, she slips her tongue into his mouth, and Rio hums, pushing his body against hers until they hear Kenny make a strangled noise behind them.

“_Mom_,” he hisses, and Elizabeth grins against his mouth, but pulls away, and Rio resists the urge to chase her. Instead just watches her as she twists around to look at her son, and she opens her mouth to say somethin’, but Rio doesn’t hear it, not when he looks up and his eyes meet somebody else’s.

It ain’t nobody he recognises exactly.

Some tatted-up white guy, standing on his own on the other side of the guanaco enclosure, dressed in loose black jeans and a t-shirt, sunglasses propped up on his head, a scorpion tattoo curled around his eye, his attention holding, the set to him almost languid.

He’s been looking at them, Rio realises, something pulling suddenly tight in his gut, or rather - - not at him, at Elizabeth, he thinks, watching the guy’s gaze drop to her ass beneath the thin blue cotton of her sundress. The guy tilts his chin up at Rio, almost - - _familiar_, and shit, does he know this guy? _Should _he recognise him?

Rio’s stare hardens, but the guy doesn’t flinch.

Or maybe he does, his arm pulling back, reaching suddenly into his jeans and pulling out his cell.

“Rio?”

Rio blinks, jerking his head around to where Elizabeth is staring at him, exasperated, Kenny red faced and pissed off behind her.

“You want to chime in here?”

“With what?”

She blinks, taken aback, starts to say something about them kissing _not _being embarrassing, Kenny furiously disagreeing, and Rio sidles closer to her, dropping a hand possessively to her lower back as he starts to steer her towards the main path of the zoo. The guy opposite starts to type something on his cell, and Rio rocks his jaw, twisting his gaze over the kids.

“Weren’t we gonna see some red pandas?” he asks, cutting off Elizabeth and Kenny’s argument, and the kids all cheer in excitement, Jane rushing forwards to lead the way.

*

The guy’s not at the red pandas, but he sees him again at the great apes, chatting on his cell, gaze flicking to them in a way that has Rio holding Emma’s hand too tight and shepherding Jane and Marcus by starting a new game that involves keeping them trapped between him and Elizabeth. They lose him at the lions though, at the flamingos (all the kids teetering one legged in imitations – Elizabeth hovering, almost breathless over Danny, tryna make sure he don’t fall), and shit, Rio thinks, jaw rocking.

He’s being paranoid.

It’s the fuckin’ _zoo_, he reminds himself as the kids all spring forwards, practically storming the wooden barricade to see the rhinoceros. It’s too public, too PG, too firm with security for anybody to want to start shit here, and he rolls his shoulders, trying to swallow any agitation, that stranger feeling in his gut that reminds him _Kane saw Danny_, and just - -

The kids all _ooooooo _suddenly, dramatic, and Rio steps forwards, body still stiff, peering over their heads to the animal before them, heavy footed, horns at odds with one another – one big, long, curved, the other shorter, jagged, like a set of fraternal twins, like - - shit, Rio thinks, almost wryly, glancing at Marcus and Jane. Like the two of them. 

“Be careful,” Elizabeth calls beside him, trotting forwards as Danny tries to hike himself up on the fence. “Honey, your wrist - - you’ve got to be _careful_.”

He watches her move through the fray of other people, sees Danny pout at her as she eases him down, and whatever Danny says, it’s gotta be somethin’ about not being able to see without standing on the gate, because suddenly Elizabeth’s tryna pick him up herself, like he’s still small enough for her to do that, and Danny flushes hot with embarrassment. Rio shakes his head, refocusing as he steps forwards to stop her.

“Ma, don’t - -” he starts, following her, only to jerk forwards when somebody knocks into him. Rio scowls, twisting around, jaw set, and whoever ran into him mumbles out some apology, carrying on their way, but Rio can’t pay attention to that. Can’t pay attention to that because there’s that fuckin’ _guy _again, standing further down the barricade, not looking at the rhino lazily munching on hay, looking, again, at Elizabeth, only - - Rio inhales sharply, glancing back at them.

Danny.

And he hears it again then – that’s the thing – Kane’s loud, braying voice saying _fuck, that’s her kid, isn’t it?_ and this guy ain’t Kane, but he’s - - maybe he’s - -

Rio snaps, striding away from Elizabeth and the kids, over towards the guy, pushing through the crowd, ignoring Elizabeth calling after him, his jaw rocking, fingers itching for his gun, but - - fuck, he don’t got that on him. The guy, he sees him, must, because suddenly he’s pushing back through the crowd, away from him, and Rio’s picking up his step, following him through the shifting families and the couples on dates and the study groups, through all of ‘em – lost in a crowd of sunscreen and BO and oily food and then - -

The guy’s gone.

Rio cusses gruffly.

Yanking his cell from his pocket, he fires off a quick text to both Dags and Demon, describing the guy with the scorpion tattoo, asking if he fits any of Kane’s boys or - - _fuck_, Cygnus', before sucking in a breath, wheeling around and moving quickly back to find Elizabeth, unwilling to leave her on her own too long when - -

Shit.

She don’t even know.

He scrapes a hand back over his head, trying to compose himself when he sees them all, still crowded around the corner of the barricade, watching the rhino eat. Elizabeth and Danny must’ve worked out their thing at least, because he’s back on the fence, Elizabeth’s hands glued to his waist, her body practically pressed behind his, so if he falls, she’ll break it, and if Rio were any less tense, his step any less stiff, he might’ve even been amused. He checks the rest of the kids before standing beside her.

“I thought we’d lost you,” she asks, her hands on Danny as he watches the rhino step heavily across the enclosure, his mouth slack, and Rio hums, keeps his tone as light as he can manage even as everything else in him feels pulled tight enough to tear.

“Just thought I saw someone I knew. Ain’t it time for the restaurant?”

It’s enough to make Elizabeth twist around to look at him, blinking rapidly, confused, before she checks her watch.

“We still have twenty minutes before our reservation.”

“Let’s go now, yeah?”

Get them in, he thinks. Settled. Easy to keep tabs on ‘em if they’re all around a table, easier still to slip away and follow up with Dags and Demon. He rolls his shoulders, and Elizabeth’s forehead furrows, her eyes darting over his face, like she’s tryna read him.

“Is everything okay?” she asks quietly, and Rio nods.

“Just hungry, ma. Lotta walkin’, y’know?”

He puts on a smile, sliding a hand over her lower back, bunching up a little in the fabric of her sundress, and shit, if he can’t see it on her face.

He knew she was getting too good at reading him.

Still. Slow as anything, she nods.

*

Pulling Elizabeth’s handbag into his lap, Rio cusses.

Loud.

“That’s a _bad _word,” Jane sing-songs around a dinosaur-shaped chicken nugget, and Rio glances up at her, planted direct across from him at the table, her legs up on the chair, knees swaying wildly, as she looks smugly back at him.

“Legs down,” he tells her, reaching across the table for as many napkins as he can gather. He’d only grabbed her handbag to pull out Danny’s painkillers – the kid was due after all, and he’d started fidgeting, teary eyed, in that way he’d do instead of complaining – but somewhere over the course of the day, the bottle of it has smashed in Elizabeth’s bag – fuck knows how – leaving all her things - purse, daybook, make-up, tampon box, covered in the thick pink liquid of kiddy drugs.

“It’s a pretty colour,” Emma coos happily across the table, already helping to gather up more napkins and pass them down, while Kenny’s thumbs work furiously on his cell beside her. Rio takes them, grabbing the bottle and bits of glass out of her purse and shit, he doesn’t think he can salvage any of this. Beside him, Danny frowns, cradling his wrist into his chest.

Gaze flicking between Danny, the mess in Elizabeth’s bag, his phone screen – neither Dags nor Demon have messaged him back yet beyond the cursory _I’ll look into it_ – Rio rolls his shoulders back, digs his heels into the floor, tense. After a second, he grunts up at Kenny, jerking his head over to the waiter station.

“Go see if they can get us a sponge or somethin’, yeah? Make sure it’s damp,” he tells him, and Kenny blinks, but slides up without complaint, heading over to the counter where Elizabeth’s standing, organising the candles on Danny’s birthday cake.

Maybe he can scrape some of the liquid off her purse with the medicine spoon? His frown deepens as he reaches out to grab another napkin. He’s so deeply focused on trying to sort out Elizabeth’s handbag, he don’t even realise the kids are still chattering until Emma asks him direct.

“Mr. Rio, do we _have _to see the frogs?”

Rio’s gaze flicks up to her, at the pout on her lips, and he shakes his head at her.

“We’re here for Danny’s birthday,” he reminds her, turning his attention back on the contents of Elizabeth’s handbag, awkwardly trying to mop up the bits of glass and ibuprofen. Beside him, Danny squirms back in his seat.

“But they’re so gross,” Emma insists. “They’re all slimy and their toes are weird.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her pouting as he pulls out Elizabeth’s daybook, wiping it off as best as he can, but - - shit, she’s gonna need a new one. He fans out the pages, tryna dry it out.

“The first thing we saw was the penguins like you wanted,” Rio tells her, reaching out to pull another piece of glass out of Elizabeth’s bag. “You gotta compromise.”

“We saw the penguins first because they were the first thing here,” Emma counters, and Rio shuts his eyes briefly, irritation sparking in his belly, his hands covered in thick, oozy medicine, and he takes a deep breath. Before he can say anything though, Jane interjects.

“I thought you’d love the frogs,” she says, her voice serious in a way Jane’s voice _never_ is. Rio glances up, still tryna soak up the liquid in Elizabeth’s handbag, when Jane adds: “You never know, one of them might be a prince.”

Beside her, Marcus grins, leans over Jane’s shoulder to add: “Better kiss them all just in case.”

Which is probably about the last thing this whole conversation needs. Rio opens his mouth to reprimand them when Jane starts smacking her lips at Emma, Marcus giggling behind her. It’s enough to turn Emma about thirty shades of red, and Rio says: “Knock it off,” right as Kenny arrives back with the wet sponge from the waiter station. He grabs it gratefully, starting to sponge out the inside of Elizabeth’s handbag, gaze flicking back to Danny and he really is pale now, even for him. Rio rocks his jaw as Jane cups her hands, carries them to her mouth, and lays a big, slobbering kiss on the imaginary frog there. She makes a show of frowning.

“Not this one,” she says, and Marcus is all in now – pushing himself across the table to pretend to catch a new one. He passes it gently to Jane, who lays a particularly wet kiss on that one too.

“_Stop it_,” Emma hisses across the table, and Rio glances up at the warble in her voice, her eyes glassy, opens his mouth to tell them to stop, when Danny leans into his side suddenly, voice low.

“Rio? Don’t tell mom, but my arm is hurting,” he whispers, and Rio blinks at him, because - - fuck, how bad’s it hurting for Danny to say it? Even Carmen said she couldn’t get shit outta him at the hospital. Rio grabs one of the bits of glass which still has a small pool of ibuprofen in it and then the measuring spoon.

“She’s a total frogkisser,” Marcus says, laughing still, and Jane’s face instantly brightens, latching onto the word.

“Frogkisser! Emma is a frogkisser, Emma is a frogkisser,” she sing-songs, and Emma turns purple, eyes darting around the restaurant, like someone might care enough to listen.

“Jane, s_top it,_” she hisses again, and when they don’t, she practically falls out of her chair in her speed to get up. “You’re _not _funny, _nobody _thinks you’re funny.”

“Si’down, Emma,” he tells her, scraping liquid ibuprofen onto the spoon out of the fractured glass, before shifting his gaze out to Jane and Marcus. “And you two gotta listen to your sister. Stop it. She’s right, this ain’t funny.”

He marries it with a look that has Marcus looking bashful, gaze fixing on the floor, but Jane just tilts her chin up defiantly, even as she blinks, all innocent.

“What?” Jane asks, and Rio rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the painkillers. Drugs first, he thinks, then Jane, then cake, then he can check-in with Dags and Demon.

“Leave her alone, yeah?”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

He levels her with a look at that, and Jane grins too sweetly, turning her attention back to Emma and she leaves it maybe a minute, fake reading the menu, leaves it long enough that Emma’s normal colouring returns to her face, that she inches back onto her chair, and Rio somehow manages to get a full dose of painkillers into the medicine spoon, passing it along to Danny, before she slowly unleashes one long, drawn out

_Riiiibbbbbbbbeettt. _

“MOOOOMMMMM!” Emma howls, leaping to her feet and starting to tear off across the restaurant after her, and just - - _fuck_, Rio thinks, checking Danny’s taken his medicine before getting to his feet to chase after her, when he hears a squelch, a collective gasp and silence descend on the restaurant.

He knows what it is before he even looks, but still. Don’t feel much better to look across the restaurant where Elizabeth must’ve just been starting to sing the opening lines of _Happy Birthday _to see the cake now squashed between them – Emma having run more or less face-first into it.

Behind him, Kenny groans as Jane suddenly _screeches_ with laughter, breaking the quiet of the restaurant.

Rio turns around, glowers at Jane and Marcus who are both now red-faced with hysterics, when Danny suddenly says: “My cake,” his voice wobbling tearfully, and just - - Rio looks at him, rocks his jaw, swallows.

“We can get you a new one, yeah?”

But Danny shrugs, his shoulders sagging, looking away from Rio.

“I don’t want a new cake, I want the one mom made.”

“You could eat it out of Emma’s hair,” Kenny jokes, and Rio grunts, unamused, as he watches Emma cry, and Elizabeth alternate between comforting her and tryna salvage whatever’s left of the cake.

“Stay here,” he tells them, striding over to Elizabeth and Emma.

“_Everyone’s staring at me_,” Emma sobs into Elizabeth’s cake smeared chest, and Rio frowns, because it ain’t just cake. A small fleck of red rests on the curve of one of her breasts above the neckline of her sundress, and it takes him a minute to realise it’s a burn from one of the candles. He casts his gaze quickly over both Elizabeth and Emma, searching out any more, but it looks like the crush of air and icing took out the rest of the flames before they could hit either one of them.

“Nobody’s staring at you,” she says, which is a flat-out lie, Rio thinks. The restaurant is only just starting to hum back to life after a weighted silence, and shit, Rio thinks, there’s cake all over both of ‘em. “It’s okay.”

Elizabeth’s gaze flicks up to him, and he meets it, asking the question of what she wants, _needs_ from him with his look, but he’s not sure that she even has an answer for that. In the end, she sighs, watching as a waiter comes out with a dustpan and brush. 

“I only brought spare clothes for Jane and Marcus,” she tells him weakly. “I put them in Kenny’s backpack.”

Rio nods, stepping closer to pull the cardboard tray with the remains of the cake out of Elizabeth’s hands, using it to catch some of the chunky bits still falling off the waist of her dress.

“Put her in Marcus’ then,” coz Jane’s won’t fit her, not anymore, but shit, it just makes Emma sob louder.

“_No_,” she insists, pulling back from Elizabeth to look up at her. “Mom, you _can’t_, somebody from school might see me. I can’t wear _boys _clothes.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sure nobody will even notice,” she says, pulling some of the cake out of her hair and dropping it onto the tray in Rio’s hands.

“They _will_,” Emma insists. “And then they’ll tell _everyone_.”

Elizabeth sighs, exhausted, threading her fingers through Emma’s hair enough that they can comb out some of the frosting, while Rio tries to get more of it off her dress, only to be interrupted by a loud call behind them.

“Jane, _stop_,” Kenny’s voice sounds behind them, and Rio spins on the spot to see Jane out the front of the restaurant – out across the path, about a third of the way up a tree, Marcus watching from the ground below, and Rio cusses gruffly as Elizabeth groans.

“Can you go do that please?” Elizabeth asks him. “I’m going to take Emma to the bathroom and try and clean her up.”

With a nod, Rio gently presses a hand to her back, coaxing her towards the bathroom, before he pivots, striding out across the restaurant floor. He passes Kenny and Danny at the table, pausing only long enough to drop the plate of cake onto the table and tell Kenny to take his backpack to his mom and Emma, feeling his irritation burn furious in his gut as he crosses the rest of the way, out the restaurant’s open door, and stepping out onto the concrete path of the zoo.

“I told her not to,” Marcus tells him as soon as he gets there, and Rio gives him a look before pausing to stare up at Jane through the branches, her pale legs scrappy, her hair already full of leaves and twigs. He rubs a hand furiously across his face, pushing his tongue into his lower lip, blinks heavily, before staring back up at her. 

“You comin’ down?” he asks her, and Jane shrugs, reaching up to the next branch.

“No.”

“So you don’t wanna see the bears or nothin’?”

“We can see them later,” Jane tells him authoritatively, and Rio laughs, something deep and guttural that almost burns his throat.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep,” Jane replies, reaching for another branch, and Rio stares up at her, watching her disappear up the tree, and he kicks the dirt a little beneath him, tries to quell his temper. Other patrons are starting to slow their steps around them, starting to linger, their own gazes following Rio’s up towards Jane. A few people joke, laugh, more whisper, and Rio looks briefly around, scanning the crowd, and he’s not sure if he feels better or worse when he can’t see the guy with the scorpion tattoo lingering, just a few tourists wearing socks with their sandals, a pregnant woman looking nervous, a few kids looking up at Jane in awe.

Rio rocks his jaw, gaze flicking back up towards Jane.

“Yeah, so we ain’t doin’ this,” he calls up. “You gotta get down here now, and - -”

“No,” Jane says again, easy as anything, and Rio can feel his hands twitching.

“Jane,” he sucks in a breath. Feels his chest ache. Collects himself as well as he can. His gaze briefly flicks to Marcus who’s looking all too curious about how this is gonna go – even if he’s tryna hide it – and Rio sucks in his lips, looking back up through the tree. “You gonna make me come up there?”

It’s enough to make Jane scoff, looking down at him, that know-it-all-look resting heavy on her face.

“Grown ups don’t climb trees,” she tells him, and Rio arches an eyebrow, eyeing off the tree. The lower branches are thick enough for him, he thinks, grabbing one, the vague hundred-year-old memory of doing something similar, Carmen yelling at him from below, bubbling to the surface, and he forces it down, using the branch to leverage himself up, and shit, it’s almost worth it for the look of terror on both her and Marcus’ faces. Jane scrambles up to the next one, and Rio clambers up one after her, ignoring the swell of onlookers at the base. If he can just get her before security gets there, he’ll be happy. Jane pushes up another, and Rio don’t even need to climb any higher, just stand up straight, tall, reaching up through the branches towards her.

And it would be no thing – to grab her and pull her back down to him, his torso pushing up through the leaves, sticks scratching at his shoulders, would be nothing at all if the second he was close enough to touch her arm, she didn’t flail. She squawks loud, annoyed, jerks back hard enough to break his grip, and then - -

She slips. 

Blood thundering in his ears, Rio somehow manages to grab the back of her dress, swinging her down around the branch until she practically collides with his chest. Trying to stimmy his nerves, he manoeuvres her suddenly-clinging, panicked body to hold onto him properly, and clambers back down to the ground, ignoring the applause of the onlookers. He adjusts her in his arms until she’s faced to him, eye-level, and he can give her his most unimpressed stare.

“Hi,” she says, her small hands clapping down on his shoulders, and Rio laughs at her audacity, but it ain’t amused, and Jane knows that too, if her batting her eyelashes is anything to go by. “Am I in trouble?”

“What do you think?”

Jane pouts, and Rio rolls his eyes, swinging her down to the ground, already planning on all the punishment-gardening he’s gonna get her to do next weekend (y’know, since she likes trees so much), when he turns back around, starting towards the restaurant, only to stop. He glances across at all the patrons, everyone happily chattering away, unbothered, a few of the staff still cleaning up smashed cake off the floor, and he’s still got his hand on Jane’s, Marcus at his side, Kenny, now backpack-less, standing in the doorway of the restaurant watching them, but there at the table behind him, Danny’s seat is empty.

“Good catch,” Kenny hums, grinning, and Rio nods in acknowledgement, eyes scanning the restaurant.

“Where’s your brother?”

The question is enough to make Kenny blink in surprise, turn around to face the table, looking at it gormlessly.

“He was here before. He must’ve gone to find mom and Emma.”

Rio blinks uneasily, eyes still searching, something in his chest lurching when he realises he ain’t anywhere there. He steps a little backwards, grabbing Marcus’ hand and then re-tightening his grip on Jane’s, needing to hold onto them for a minute, even as they squawk about being _too old_. He tugs them both along and back into the restaurant, sitting them down at the table and gesturing for Kenny to do the same, and he’s just about to grab his cell to call Elizabeth – to check with her, when she appears out of the bathroom – her dress damp from being quasi washed, and Emma frowning, wet haired, and red-cheeked still in a pair of Marcus’ jeans and his forest green sweater. 

“I think I’m going to be finding cake on me for days,” she tells him, amused more than anything, even as Emma still looks teary beside her, and Rio’s fingers twitch.

“Danny with you?”

He asks it quick, the question cutting through the mood, through Elizabeth’s features as he sees somethin’ in her split. She stands up a little straighter, immediately alarmed, her gaze darting over the restaurant.

“No, why?” she asks, then – already almost breathless. “Did he go to the bathroom?”

Rio’s lips form a tight line, and fuck it, maybe he did. He steps around Elizabeth towards the bathroom, veering off to check the men’s, leaving Elizabeth with the kids. He practically tears into the room, but is met only with the smell of stale urinal cakes and empty stalls. Tension balloons in his chest, tightening everything inside him, and he takes a deep breath as he steps back out into the restaurant, striding sideways to check the kitchens, ignoring the jeers of the kitchen staff as he moves about the space, checking every nook and cranny for blond hair and an electric blue cast.

He slips out, back into the body of the restaurant, gaze briefly meeting Elizabeth’s, and he can see her chest flush when she sees that he’s alone.

He beelines for the waiter station.

“Yo, you seen the blond kid? At the birthday table?”

The waitress looks back at him blankly, shakes her head, and Rio strides back towards Elizabeth, who’s now frantically scanning the restaurant, eyes latching onto every blond haired boy in the place, and when Rio gets to her side, she starts talking.

“We should split up,” she tells him. “You can go - - go to the - -”

She’s scrambling now, can’t even get the words out, and he can see it, the moment she gets overwhelmed with the size of the zoo, with where they been already, with all the places they had left to go, and he’s gotta say something to calm her down, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He grabs it out, only to find a text from Demon.

_Where on his face was the scorpion tattoo?_

“Go to the office,” he says quickly, voice sharp, and Elizabeth reels back around to look at him. “Take the kids, and go to the office, tell ‘em about Danny. They’ll be able to help - - shit, that’s where they take missin’ kids. I’ll keep lookin’.”

She’s spluttering as he texts Demon back, and - - fuck, he ain’t got his gun, he remembers, as he looks back up at Elizabeth to find her face red, and her head shaking frantically.

“No, _you _take the kids to the office, I’ll keep looking,” she says. “He’s _my _son.”

“Yeah, and so’s he,” Rio says, jerking a hand out to Kenny. “And they’re your daughters. You want them buggin’ too?”

Her mouth hangs open at that, her face flipping around to take in their terrified little faces, and she can’t even talk, can’t reply, her mouth moving but no words coming out. Rio pockets his cell, moving closer to the table, eyeing off the plastic cutlery before spotting the broken glass, still wet with ibuprofen, bundled up on the table. He grabs a piece, one of the biggest ones, the sharpest, and Elizabeth blinks wildly at him, and he knows the kids can see him do it, see the twist of confusion on all their faces except Marcus’, but shit, he don’t got the time to think about that. Elizabeth opens her mouth again, eyes already wet, and he don’t got time for that neither, needs her sitting with the zoo security in the office. Needs her somewhere he knows, somewhere stable, static, safe. Needs her there with the kids, and he knows it sits there, naked on his face, as he says:

“Just go to the office.”

Knows she sees it too, and she sees it for what it is, something between terror and fury sparking on her features, face twisting.

“Is this - - is there something else? Is there - -”

He grits his teeth, stares at her, and then, very slowly, says:

“Elizabeth, I need you to go to the office.”

The sounds of the restaurant are suddenly too loud, eating up the space between them, surging through his ears, sparking his nerves. Like a blanket designed to drown out any sound of Danny, and fuck if Rio ain’t gonna cut his way through it. 

“Check the rainforest centre first,” she tells him. “And then maybe the rhinos, he really liked them, and maybe the deer. He’s too embarrassed by it now, but _Bambi_ was his favourite, and - -” she sucks in a breath, hand reaching up to slap over her mouth, tears building, and this time when Rio says “Take our children to the office,” she goes.

*

He moves quick. Feet pulling him through the crowd. Eyes latching onto every kid who even could be Danny – any around his height, any around his complexion, some with neither, like - - fuck, like he coulda changed a thing about the way he is in the fifteen minutes since he went missing.

The sounds of the zoo ring loud in his ears, in his head, the bray of zebras and the screeches of monkeys, the slow bleat of the petting zoo animals, but nothing louder than the thrum of people. Of families and kids and school groups, and there’d been a lotta ‘em from the moment they arrived, but now it feels like some impossible number, some colonising mass that he wants to wipe away. Wants to disappear away until all there is his him and his.

He swings through the rhinoceros enclosure on his way, then darts through the ostriches and the apes, every empty space towards the rainforest centre stripping away at his patience, and he blinks and he sees Danny on that hospital bed, little legs swinging, arm cradled to his chest, he blinks and he sees Kane, staring up at him through the window of his car, and just - -

Rio sucks in a breath, finally pulling up short at the front of the rainforest center, just about to duck inside when his cell buzzes in his pocket, and Rio grabs it.

“Ain’t one of his.”

It’s enough to suck the air out of his lungs, to pull him short enough he almost rocks forwards. His fingers twitch.

“What?”

“That guy you described,” Dags tells him, voice crackling over the line. “I don’t think he’s one of Kane’s. Or Cygnus'.”

Rio pauses, considering, the words turning over in his head.

“He ain’t or you don’t think he is?”

“Kinda impossible to tell without a picture,” Dags says. “But none of Kane’s boys have a face tattoo of a scorpion, and at least none of Cygnus' have one around an eye.”

And right, Rio thinks, exhaling sharply, pushing his tongue against his lower lip. His free hand slips into his pocket, feeling the shard of glass there, and he presses his thumb into the jagged edge of it, tryna root himself to the moment, to Dags’ words before he mumbles a quick thanks and hangs up.

Still, it takes him a minute, another breath, before he steps into the rainforest center.

Danny ain’t in the first section, or the second neither, and Rio moves through the darkened rooms, the soundtrack of cicadas and tropical birds ringing scratchy through the exhibit speakers. He thumbs the piece of glass burning through his pocket, can still feel the nick of that feeling in his gut that tells him Dags can’t be sure, that that guy was still fuckin’ _looking _at them, over and over like he had them on a list, and he knows they don’t look normal exactly, reminds himself exactly how much people always fuckin’ stare when they’re out together and it’s obvious _they’re _together, as he steps through the third section of the exhibit, only to stop.

Because there he is.

All on his own, Danny, sitting on the bench in one of the darkest rooms in this place, his arm cradled against his chest as he stares, open mouthed, at the tanks embedded in the walls, the frogs darting through the water in a flurry of colour, somehow made brighter by the dimness of the room.

Rio exhales a shaky breath, grabbing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, and sending a quick message to Elizabeth, before he steps slowly forwards. His gaze darts around the room for somebody, anybody else, but when he only sees an older couple, pushing their glasses up their nose to read the animal cards, and a teenage girl taking selfies, he stops, dropping instead to sit beside Danny on the small, plastic bench.

The kid don’t look all that surprised to see him, but then, Danny don’t often look all that surprised – seems to take everything in step, like he expects everything and nothing all at once. Rio drops his hands heavily to his own knees, clenches them there briefly, still trying to stimmy his nerves, before loosening them, his gaze dropping back to Danny, and he opens his mouth, only Danny beats him to it.

“I know I shouldn’t have wandered off,” Danny says. “I’m sorry.”

Rio just stares at him, eyes catching on Danny’s freckles, on the fan of his blond eyelashes, on his too-blue eyes, and in the end, he just nods. Huffing out a breath, as he watches Danny’s fingers drop to play with the rough edge of his cast. 

He’s half in a mind to just wait. Exhausted suddenly, furious still too, but it don’t feel like it’s aimed at Danny. That strange feeling unravels in his gut again, only this time he knows exactly what it is.

Been a long time, he thinks, since he felt guilty.

“You ever gonna tell us what happened to your wrist?”

The question comes easier than he’d thought. He knows Elizabeth’s been prying, asking, and Rio had too – once, at home with Danny on the couch, the bright lights of _Voltron_ on the TV casting a glow across his pale features. Danny had studiously ignored the question then, and he figures might again now, only Rio’s done being ignored.

“See, my sister thinks you mighta been pushed over.”

The words are enough to make Danny’s fingers briefly still, his eyelashes flutter. He squirms back on the bench.

“You can’t tell mom,” he says to the frogs, and Rio opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Danny cuts him off. “She won’t understand, and she’ll get really upset, you _know _she will, and then she’ll make it a _thing_.”

In the tank in front of them, a red frog, about the size of a jar lid, shakes out it’s legs before tumbling gracelessly into the water. It sinks heavily, its body stretching long, before suddenly its legs bow, and it kicks powerfully, surging through the water. Rio exhales, eyes following the frog, when Danny taps a finger on his cast beside him.

“They think I’m weird,” he says, and Rio pauses, turns his head enough to look at Danny, and just - - the thing is, he can’t exactly say he’s surprised. Danny ain’t all that strange, not really, but he’s small for his age and he’s so quiet half the time you don’t even notice he’s there, and Rio’s not so sure the drawing helps. Not only giving him something to hide behind, but he’s prone to drawing people without asking, without them even knowing, and not everybody thinks that’s cute, but shit, Rio thinks, lips pursing. He’s also smart, talented, funny when he _does _talk.

He’s just a fuckin’ kid.

“You think you’re weird?” he asks, and Danny blinks, like the question hadn’t even really occurred to him before. He turns it over in his head, his eyes glancing back at the frogs.

“Not really,” Danny says after a minute, and Rio nods.

“They know you better than you know you?”

Danny shakes his head, and Rio shrugs.

“Ain’t a lot of point in worryin’ about what other people think of you,” Rio tells him. “But I know it ain’t easy when you know they got the wrong idea. Especially ain’t easy when they get physical.”

The red frog splutters out of the water, tongue darting out, and it must eat something, and huh, Rio thinks. His dad’s voice suddenly in his head, telling him some fact when they were her so long ago, something that made Aida squawk and Rio and Carmen both laugh. Something that loosens his shoulders before he can even think anything of it.

“You know why frogs close their eyes when they eat?”

And Danny does blink at that, scrunching up his nose.

“No?”

Rio hums, and it’s like his dad’s telling Danny, not him. He can feel his dad wink, grin. Can hear him laugh, in the hollow of his head, as he speaks.

“They close their eyes and their eyes go back in their head, and it helps push the food down their throat. Helps ‘em swallow.”

And it’s enough to make Danny laugh too, wrinkling his nose properly now, his own eyes squinting.

“That’s gross,” he says, and Rio chuckles, dropping his hands behind himself, leaning back down to look at Danny beside him. He lets the moment pass, lets it wash over them, and then says:

“Way I see it, we do two things. First, I teach you a few moves, just enough those kids ain’t gettin’ near enough to push you.”

A pair of blue eyes blink up at him, slightly trepidatious, but also a little amused.

“Like fighting?” he asks, and Rio shakes his head.

“Nuh, like self-defence,” he says. “But none of that krav maga shit, yeah? Real shit.”

Danny grins, and Rio grins back, humming a little, before adding:

“Second thing, you talk to your mom.”

Which - - don’t go over _as_ well. Danny’s face falls, neck quickly shifting back, so that he’s watching the frogs again, but Rio doesn’t follow his gaze this time. Just keeps watching Danny. 

“She’ll get upset.”

Rio hums a little, tilting his head from side-to-side.

“Your ma gets upset because she loves you and you don’t talk to her about nothin’,” he says. “If you talk to her about things, she’ll calm down, and she’ll talk to you, yeah? It’s about communication.”

The twist in Rio’s lower belly arcs up at that, and he can almost see it, the look on Elizabeth’s face, if she’d been here to overhear that.

“Can’t I just talk to you?”

“’Course you can,” Rio tells him. “Always. But you can’t hide things like this from her, and you can’t wander off like this neither.”

Danny seems to acknowledge that at least, and Rio sits forwards, wondering how long it’ll be until she gets here. His gaze falls on the frog tanks again, and briefly he lets himself fall back into the almost meditative soundtrack of the rainforest music – insects, birds, and all, set to drown out the sounds of the water pumps.

“She’s always busy,” Danny says suddenly. “And it’s not just work, it’s Kenny and Emma and Jane and now Marcus too. And you. She never wanted to be around with dad as much as she wants to be around you.”

Turning back to look at Danny again, Rio shrugs gently.

“Never said you ain’t gotta share her,” he tells him. “I know that ain’t always fun, trust me, but you make time. I know she tries to make time for you. And ‘sides, you wanna talk to anyone about people thinkin’ you’re weird, your mama is _definitely _the one to talk to.”

Danny laughs at that, says:

“Mom’s not weird.”

“Weirder than you, that’s for sure,” Rio hums, and Danny opens his mouth to reply when Elizabeth bursts through the entrance to the exhibit section, dragging the other four behind her, and when she collapses in front of Danny this time, she can’t hold back the tears.

*

He’s not sure how long he waits for her.

Gotta be at least an hour, maybe two. Takes her that long, after they’re home from the zoo, after they’ve had dinner, after she’s somehow whipped up a new birthday cake with leftover frosting and a lone, fondant frog, after they’ve bathed the kids and gotten them to bed, to come to their room.

So he waits. Not twiddling his thumbs exactly, but he feels himself pottering in that way he don’t, reading a little, fixing clothes on hangers, slipping into bed only to get out of it again, straighten the sheets, turn on their bedside lamps, and just - - shit, he’s pissing _himself_ off. He swipes a hand back over his skull, rocking his jaw, thinking about getting into bed again when Elizabeth steps inside the door, closing it shut and locking it behind her.

Which ain’t good, to say the least, he thinks, straightening his back, because she only locks that if she’s about to get on top of him, and somethin’ tells him that ain’t on the cards tonight.

She leans back against the door, still in her pale blue sundress from the day, the tiny spot of a burn at her breast just poking over the top, her hair frazzled, a little frizzy, her eyes tired, and then they just - - look at each other.

And it should be him starting, he knows it should, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Can’t spring the words from the floor of his mouth because now he knows that feeling at the bottom of his gut is guilt, he can’t _un_feel it, and shit if it ain’t a feelin’ he’s used to.

In the end, it’s Elizabeth who breaks the silence.

“You took a piece of broken glass with you,” she says suddenly, her voice small, and Rio sucks on his teeth. “When you realised my son was missing, you picked up a piece of broken glass and you told me to take our children and hide.”

“I didn’t tell - -”

“You did,” Elizabeth says sharply. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

Rio rocks his jaw. Watches the firmness of her face, and fuck, he’s gotta eat this.

He scratches a hand over his head, one hand dropped to his hip, turning over what the best way to tell her this is, before he just caves and says it.

“Kane saw Danny.”

Beth turns then, her eyes wide, and Rio looks away from her, his other hand coming down to fist his other hip.

“_What_?”

And fuck, Rio can’t look at her, so he makes himself. Makes himself see it on her face, the wide-eyed betrayal, the guilt roaring up through his lower belly, wrapping like a snake around his chest. He inhales sharply.

“I met with him the mornin’ Danny was in the hospital, then he came back to the warehouse. Tried to blackball a new deal. We were there for fifteen minutes, tops, and Danny was in my office, outta sight, y’know, but - -”

“He came out,” Elizabeth finishes, her eyes unblinking as she looks at him, and Rio nods.

“I saw someone watchin’ us at the zoo,” he continues. “Thought maybe it was one of Kane’s boys, so when Danny went missin’ - - It wasn’t though. One of Kane’s boys. It was nobody.”

Silence descends again, lays itself out thick over them like a blanket, and Rio shifts his weight, watching as Elizabeth stares back at him, her mask in careful place, her face as blank as he’s ever seen it, and he can’t tell. If it’s fury, or grief, or relief, or what.

“Was it worth it?”

Rio blinks.

“What?”

“The deal. With Kane,” she says, her voice tight, and fuck if that ain’t his answer. “Was it worth it?”

“Elizabeth - -” he starts, but it ain’t what she wants to hear, because suddenly she’s on top of him, pushing at his chest, shoving him backwards across their bedroom. 

“Was it worth putting my son in danger? Was it worth it, huh?” she cries, hitting his chest now, her small hands balled into fists, her voice hoarse with tears, and Rio has to grab her wrists, has to hold them to stop their course, taking the brunt of her weight as she thrashes in his grip.

“He could’ve seen something, he could’ve been hurt, he could’ve - - ” she sucks in a shaky breath. “He could’ve killed him.”

“I wouldn’t have let none of that happen,” he insists, voice sharp, and Elizabeth turns wild eyes up on him, her wrists twisting harshly in his grip. She surges up onto her tiptoes, almost headbutting him in the process as she pushes her wrists hard into his hands.

“_You let him see him_.”

Rio grunts, that feeling tightening in him again, and Elizabeth yanks at her wrists again, so hard this time she almost falls backwards, unsteady on her tiptoes, in her fury, but he uses his grip on her to keep her stable, lurching her back towards him.

“I’m handlin’ it,” he hisses down at her. “Trust me.”

“Trust you?” she hisses. “_How?_ You don’t _tell me_ anything. You didn’t tell me my son had broken his wrist, you didn’t tell me about any of _this_. You keep me in the dark, and I won’t do that again. I _can’t_.”

And there’s something in the way she says it that runs too hot in him, too cold, too _something_, because suddenly he’s scoffing down at her, desperate, thoughts he can’t reign in thundering through his head, and he surges over her, pushing her back.

“Oh, you lookin’ for the door, sweetheart? You knew what you were getting’ into, you - -”

And then it’s Elizabeth scoffing, the noise tearing out of her throat furiously, her body practically shaking.

“_No_,” she insists, hoarse, and when she yanks on her wrists this time, Rio lets her go, resisting the urge to steady her when she stumbles back. “I want you to _talk to me_.”

Which is just real fuckin’ rich, coming from her, he thinks, like she hadn’t sulked in silence all week after he hadn’t told her about Danny’s wrist. Like she’s ever been clear about _anything, _like she’s ever been a straight shooter.

“And say what, huh? That I fucked up?” he says it patronisingly, like she’s any fuckin’ good at this either. “That what you wanna hear, baby?”

And she turns on him instantly, breathless in her anger.

“_Yes_,” she says. “That’s _exactly _what I want you to tell me.”

And just - - they both sort of stop, stare at each other for a minute. Rio blinks, feeling the anger drain out of him. His hand finds his head again, rubbing furiously across his crown, and Elizabeth exhales harshly, gesturing between them.

“If we can’t tell each other that, I don’t know what we’re - - ” she blinks rapidly, looks away, steels herself again. “We have to be able to tell each other that.”

Rio sucks in his lips, looks away from her too, something hot and hard to move sitting heavy in his gut. He looks at the wall, out towards the window, fists his hips with his hands again, exhales, and shit - - he - - 

“I fucked up,” he says, swallowing thickly, gaze flicking back to her. “I shoulda called you at the hospital, I never shoulda taken Danny to the warehouse when I knew Kane would be there. I shoulda told you what happened.”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth says, her voice firm. “You did, and you should have.”

He nods, and then they just look at each other again. Standing in their bedroom, and shit, she just looks tired, he thinks, her shoulders sagged, her dress still ruined from that birthday cake she’d worked so hard on, the day – week – resting heavy on her. He don’t know how long they stand there opposite each other, just knows Elizabeth’s the first one to move, heading towards their en suite, and he watches her, only this time she pauses in the doorway of it, moves to close the door on him, only then she - - stops. Leaves it open, and Rio exhales.

He shifts his weight, his feet slow, and it takes him a moment to follow. Almost doesn’t. Thinks about going out – to a bar with Demon, or the gym, or tracking down Kane and putting that glass still in his pocket to good use, but in the end, he just follows her.

Fuck, he’ll always follow her, when she’ll have him.

The light in their en suite is harsh, and with the heat lamp on too, it’s loud, leaving everything stark. Still, Elizabeth hasn’t ever cared, and she doesn’t pause when she sees him in the doorway, just keeps up the process of taking off her dress, revealing miles of soft, pale skin. She gently presses her fingers to the flicker of the candlestick burn against her breast, before moving her hands, taking off her bra, slipping out of her panties.

It still stops him.

The sight of her - - just _her_. Skin pale, marked in the way of no one else he knows – stretchmarks like a ghost’s fingers at her hips, her c-section scar long, and still a little pink, the dip of freckles like a constellation across her chest, shoulders, back, and fuck. The way her body curves, the soft lines of her body like somethin’ drawn for him.

There’s a smear of cake beneath her arm that makes his lips twitch, and he wants to touch her there, wants to run his finger the whole way down the inside of her arm just to watch her shiver, but that ain’t his tonight, not - -

“Rio?”

He blinks, glancing up at her, and she turns around, gesturing to her necklace clasp.

Before he can think any more of it, he closes the distance between them, fingers brushing her hair up off the back of her neck, lingering there on her neck as he makes gentle work of undoing the clasp of her necklace. He moves to drop it back on the sink, surprised when he turns around to find Elizabeth in front of him, her fingers already reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

She undoes them, each and every one, batting his hands away when he tries to help her, and then she pulls down his pants, underwear too, before moving away to turn the shower on. She tests the water, steam spilling out around her, before she steps in, and she don’t invite him exactly, but then - - she’d left the door open, undressed him, and he rocks a little on his heels, before stepping forwards, slipping into the shower behind her.

The water beats heavily against his shoulders, and he drops forwards, letting the force of it start to untangle the pressure in his neck, before Elizabeth’s walking him backwards, just enough that she can get the full force of the stream of water.

Blinking his eyes open, he watches the water stream down her body, and he just. He wets his lips. 

“This ain’t - - ” he sucks in a breath. “It’s only been me and Marcus. For a long time now. And Laura, but she ain’t in this with me, y’know?”

Elizabeth stares up at him, her eyes big, the water still dripping out of her hair, cascading down her body. His back hits the tiles, and he looks up to the light, then back to her.

“And Carmen and Aida,” she tells him when their gazes meet again, and Rio rocks his jaw, shrugs, and Elizabeth shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “You’ve got people, you’ve always had people. It’s us. We’re the problem.”

“I don’t tell them shit neither,” he tells her, and she nods.

“I know. I don’t tell Annie and Ruby anything either.”

The sound of the water shattering off the tiles at their feet fills his ears, and he watches Elizabeth reach for a bar of soap, slowly lathering her hands. It’s enough to make him rub at his head, to huff out a breath, to take it – when she offers the soap to him too.

“We don’t have to tell them,” she says, fingers briefly touching him as she drops the soap in his hand. “But I think we need to tell each other.”

And - -

Rio wets his lips, looks away from her.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m any good at that.”

With an unamused laugh, Elizabeth starts to lather her body with soap – her underarms, her chest, breasts, belly, cunt. She shakes her head, exhales sharply.

“Me either,” she admits. “But we need to try. And I think we need to have rules.”

He blinks down at her, soaping his own body, and Elizabeth’s gaze lingers.

“When it comes to the kids, we always tell each other, no matter what,” she tells his chest, and Rio feels a burn in his gut at the acknowledgement, but he nods. He looks at her, watches the soap bubble around her chest, waits, and she looks up at him, meets his gaze. “If it’s anything that could be a threat to this house or this family, we always tell each other, no matter what.”

The words are thrown down between them, and he thinks _no_, thinks there’s too much he don’t want her involved in, too much he wants her _away _from, but then he thinks of today, at the zoo. Thinks of knowing while she didn’t, the fear that had had him in a vice.

Of not being able to talk to her about a thing until it got that bad.

Five fuckin’ kids.

He huffs out a breath, but finally nods, and Elizabeth exhales, watching him as he waits for the next rule, and when she doesn’t say anything else, he arches an eyebrow. She wrinkles her nose, stepping under the stream of water to wash away the last of the soap on her.

“That’s all I can think of right now,” she admits, and Rio laughs, and when he sidles beneath the stream of water beside her, he lets her gently push him back out of it again. Her hand stills on his chest. She caresses her thumb there gently.

“How long is the deal with Kane for?”

At the words, the question, his mouth feels dry. Any thought of Kane sitting like a bitter pill in his head, something rough even to think of, and Elizabeth’s hand rests a little firmer, like she’s tryna feel his pulse through his chest.

“No time commitment,” he tells her. “Thirty percent for as long as it works.”

It’s enough to make her nod. She tightens her grip briefly.

“The second it doesn’t, we’re out.”

She says it firmly, over the sound of the shower, and Rio leaves it a moment before he nods, halfway there already in his head, and he watches Elizabeth nod too, can see the relief on her face, and just - - 

“I shouldn’t have hit you earlier,” she adds, and Rio blinks, drops his hand to hers, fanning his fingers there.

“You don’t hit hard, ma.”

“That’s not the point,” she tells him, shaking her head, and Rio nods, lets her have it. Before he can help himself, his hand finds her breast, cupping it in a way that lets his thumb travel gently over the burn there, watches her suck in a breath when he does, and he just hums.

“Now we’re even,” he tells her, and Elizabeth rolls her eyes, says:

“Not even close,” and when he leans down to kiss her, her hand finds the back of his neck, holding him close, he lets his eyes fall shut, loses himself in her grip, lets the water wash this day off them. This week.

All these fucking mistakes.

Just - -

Loses himself in _her_.

And hopes she can lose herself in him too.


	23. Stupid Cupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, for a whole lot of prompts!
> 
> 1) I know you're probably already working on a Brio valentines day prompt and your fic And Happiness Too is basically an unofficial valentines day one. But maybe just a small one with roleplay on top. Hell it might be hilarious if Beth and Rio try to get away and do something romantic or at least have sex but they keep getting interrupted.
> 
> 2) I CANT BELIEVE I HAVENT THOUGT OF THIS UNTIL NOW but for the C&C universe, I was thinking, Brio Valentine's Day? I just low-key really wanna see Rio's take on it
> 
> 3) Prompt: “Is it my birthday?” Beth actually makes herself a costume for Rio to rip off her.
> 
> 4) PH prompt- a father/daughter dance. Would love if one of the girls straight up asked Rio over Dean to take her. If you choose to accept. Thank you.
> 
> 5) I really love your Center and Circumference series. Just wondering what you think having Rio being jealous over Beth or vice versa. Maybe you can bring back Dylan or someone like Tom in Cross Your Fingers. I just love the idea of getting inside Rio's mind when he's so jealous
> 
> 6) Prompt for Center and Circumference if possible, just them making sweet tender love with a lot of eye contact pls😭

“I thought we agreed to take it easy on the glitter?”

The question’s received about as well as she anticipated by Emma, who offers up the sort of scandalised expression she gives Beth a little too often these days. It’s hard to take it seriously though when she’s somehow managed to get a constellation of silver sequins all over her face. Behind her, Rio grins, like he knows exactly what Beth’s seeing, as he uncaps the liquid glue for Marcus.

“It’s _Valentine’s Day_,” Emma says pointedly, as if the look wasn’t enough, and Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes as she watches Rio’s grin switch to a grimace as Marcus messily oozes glue onto his sheet of bubblegum pink crepe paper.

The family room looks like a Saturday Morning Special threw up on it – her craft table having been thoroughly raided for the purposes of creating Valentine’s cards for school – ribbons, stickers, markers, paint are sprawled out across the plastic art sheet Rio had thankfully laid down before letting them get started, and all the kids are there across it – even Kenny, who at 14 usually feels too cool for this sort of thing. Beth steps forwards, running her hand through his hair as she looks at his stack of four boyishly decorated cards, each for a different girl – the fact of which makes her sigh.

“How many are you making?” she asks him, and Kenny blinks up at her, rolling one letter up like a scroll and tying it with a ribbon – a sure fire indication it’s for Molly – his much-too-old-for-him math tutor (and an avid fantasy fan).

“Just seven,” he replies with a shrug, and Rio snorts, reaching over to tie Jane’s hair back (he’s taken to wearing hair elastics for both the girls around his wrist lately, hidden among his rope bangles or beneath the strap of his watch) to stop it falling into one of the open paint pots as she crawls across the mat to steal a handful of Emma’s pink sequins.

“Well, don’t pass them all out at once,” Beth huffs, walking forwards to brush Emma’s hair back too, watching as her daughter preens, even as she looks nervously across her single, carefully crafted card.

It really is pretty – a silver-sequined moon raining down silver glitter on a drawing of a couple holding hands. The girl has to be Emma – if the hip-length dark hair is anything to go by, and Beth blinks, squinting a little at the boy. Trying to place Emma’s drawing amidst any of the boys in her class.

“Who’s this?” she asks when she comes up empty, and Emma flushes to the roots of her hair, shaking her head furiously as she pulls the card to her chest, hiding it from view.

“Nobody,” she replies shyly, and even from here, Beth can see Jane’s unimpressed look on the floor beneath them.

“Tyson Wu,” Jane says, and Emma spins on the spot to glare at her sister. Beth blinks, and Rio groans, already gearing up for this fight. “What? Everybody at school knows. You go all purple and your face goes all - -”

She bats her lashes dramatically, pursing her lips into a pout that has Marcus grinning, and Kenny and Danny both pointedly staying out of it. Emma practically yanks her hair out of Beth’s hands as she collapses down onto the mat in front of Jane, snatching the sequins Jane was attempting to hoard away from her.

“I wouldn’t expect a _baby _like you to understand,” Emma sniffs, and Rio pinches the bridge of his nose, ready for it when Jane reels up.

“I am _not _a baby.”

“You wanna know what everyone at school knows? That _you _still need a baby booster seat.”

Jane lets loose a howl as she attempts to spring forwards and tackle her sister, something that Rio easily intercepts, hooking a finger in the belt loop on the back of her jeans and dragging her back to sit beside Marcus. Beth mouths him a quick _thank you_, before dropping down on the mat beside Emma, crossing her legs in Jane’s newly empty spot.

She glances over at her daughter, reaching out to curl a chunk of dark hair behind her ear, tilting her head, trying to get Emma to meet her gaze.

“Tyson Wu, isn’t he on the baseball team?”

“And the wrestling team,” Danny adds helpfully, carefully crafting an elaborate paper flower, and right, Beth thinks, putting it all together in her head.

“You were helping him with his homework for a little bit, right?”

_Helping_ being the operative word.

More like doing it for him.

It had been Rio who’d put a stop to it, about as unsubtly as he ever did anything – lingering after a PTA meeting until the Wu’s stepped out and telling them exactly how quickly that would stop. To be fair, they’d been pretty horrified by the news too, and _had _made sure it stopped, so Beth wasn’t inclined to be too upset about the whole thing. Kids would be kids after all, and she’d remembered being in a similar situation with a 12, 14, 17-year old Annie.

Now, Emma just shrugs, shaking her head so that her hair falls back over her face, and Beth sighs. God, she still feels too young for this. She’s not even quite 11 yet. She glances over at Rio, who’s turned his attention back to Marcus and Jane, giving them privacy.

“Is he going to the dance?” Beth asks gently, and Emma’s flush deepens. She nods as shortly and sharply as she can, and Beth smiles at her. “That’s going to be fun. With everyone so dressed up too.”

Picking up a silver sequin, Emma shifts it on her finger, and Beth watches as it catches the light, patiently waiting for Emma to continue. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise when she doesn’t, but still, Beth’s shoulders sag, already making a plan to try and catch a look at this boy at the Valentine’s dance on Friday.

As if on cue opposite her, Marcus springs up to his feet, striding purposefully across the art mat towards Beth and thrusting a piece of pink cardboard in her face.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Om!” he tells her, and Beth’s eyebrows leap up her forehead, her gaze dropping to the card in his hands, and she can’t quite help the grin as she takes it from him, even as all the other kids groan and Rio barks on a laugh.

“Yeah, you’re supposed to give her that on Friday, pop.”

Marcus just shrugs, and Beth takes it with a widening smile, looking at the big cake on the front – still slightly wet with paint – before opening it up to Marcus’ unfairly good handwriting (something Beth takes at least partial credit for – with Laura taking the bulk of it, of course – and Rio surely deserves none for).

_Dear: Om, _

_Thank you for loving me, I love you too, you’re the best Om I could ever want._

_Love from: Marcus_

It still surprises her, how much she likes being Om. The name had stuck after Marcus and Jane had had another too-long debate about what Beth and Rio were to the other, and it had only been when Marcus had said Beth was his _Om _– short for ‘other mom’, and Jane had realised that that made Rio _Od_ – short for ‘other dad’ and descended into giggles, that the names had stuck. Needless to say, Rio still isn’t entirely sold on his nom de plume, the fact of which has only sold her kids (and Annie) on it all the more.

Beth grins, closing the card and reaching up to hook a hand in the neck of Marcus’ t-shirt, pulling him gently towards her and smacking a wet kiss on his cheek just to hear him giggle.

“Thank you, baby boy,” she whispers, and Marcus flushes, reaching out to hug her quickly before standing up straight again.

“Dad made one for you too,” he says, face flushed with excitement, and - - well. Beth blinks, surprised. Rio and her have never really done anything for Valentine’s Day beyond have - - well, a pretty passionate night of sex (which doesn’t exactly make it much different from most days), much less made cards for one another, and when she looks past Marcus back to Rio, she pauses at his too-wide grin.

He promptly grabs a folded piece of red paper and slides it across the craft mat towards her, ignoring Emma’s squawk of outrage beside her (“Valentine’s Day is _Friday_!”)

The front of the card is probably the gaudiest thing Beth’s ever seen in her life, a mess of mis-matched sequins, paint and glitter to make no picture she can even begin to discern. Like he’s just lazily grabbed whatever was around to muck about with while he kept an eye on the kids which, in hindsight, is probably exactly what he did. Still, she glances back up at him, and he looks innocently back at her as Marcus sits back down beside him. Flipping it open, she’s met with only one line in Rio’s familiar chicken scratch – _Happy V Day, Elizabeth _above a profane stick-figure drawing of one figure – presumably Rio based on the enormous oblong standing to attention at the crotch, with its head between another stick figure’s spread legs – presumably her, based on the enormous circles drawn on the stick figure’s chest.

She looks up at him, deadpan.

“So romantic,” she says dryly, and Rio promptly cackles, throwing his head back, as Beth quickly snaps it shut before any of the kids can see it. “I think your handwriting is getting worse. I’m going to have to start giving you lessons in penmanship.”

And Rio does pop an eyebrow at that, head dropping back to look at her, and he rocks forwards a little – pointedly – on the plastic art mat.

“Oh, you gonna start givin’ me lessons?”

His tone is so thick, so loaded, that it goes straight through her, dips hot between her legs like he actually has licked her there, and god, that’s not _fair, _how easily he can do that. She opens her mouth to reply with something terse about how he’d reacted when - - _well. _Her eyes flick to the kids when Danny reaches over her to grab some of Emma’s sequins.

“Mom’s the best teacher,” Emma says sweetly, laying the finishing touches on her card, and Rio nods innocently.

“Ain’t she? I know she’s always teachin’ me new things to do with my hands.”

“Mom’s good with her hands,” Jane chimes in beside him, and Rio nods again, sucking in his lips and looking straight back at Beth.

“Real good,” he hums roughly, and Beth rolls her eyes, mouths _stop_, and Rio just grins, slapping his hands down on his thighs in reply. “Okay, who wants popcorn?”

The kids all cheer, and Rio bounds easily to his feet, but instead of going around the mat, he strides across it, until she’s eye level with his thighs, and pinches the card he’d made her straight out of her hands to put away or hopefully shove in the trash – somewhere where the kids won’t find it.

“Aren’t you helpful?” Beth asks him sarcastically, briefly looking up at him, and Rio widens his eyes innocently back down at her.

“Anythin’ for extra credit, Ms. Marks,” he purrs, voice somehow both light and thick, and Beth flushes to the roots of her hair, remembering the last time he said that to her in their - -

Well.

“Popcorn,” she says quickly, as curtly as she can manage. “And can you take the chicken out of the freezer while you’re there? I want to cook it for dinner.”

Even the sounds of the children’s chatter can’t drown out the sounds of his laughter all the way down the hallway.

*

And the thing is, it had been a _disaster_.

The - - _roleplaying_. God, she shakes her head, flushing at the thought – the memory – as she gets ready for bed that night, slipping into one of the silk nighties Rio had bought her (he’s started a slow takeover of her nightclothes – every time one of her pyjama sets wears out, the elastic going, he replaces them with a nightie, and Beth can’t say he isn’t mostly respectful still, always making sure that it’s something she’ll actually wear – silk that comes down to mid-thigh, or organic cotton with lace trims, instead of some sheer negligee or scrap of flimsy lace.

It’s just - - new.

Well, not new.

Not really.

It’d been well over a year ago when Rio had mentioned that he’d be into it, that it’d be _fun_, playing with her hair as she lay her head on his chest, humming through scenarios but naturally latching onto some sort of Mrs. Robinson fantasy that had Beth rolling her eyes and flushing the whole way down her chest because - - okay, there was something there. In the thought of Rio, some neighbour’s son home from college for the summer, starry eyed at _her_ for a change.

Still, it had taken months of thought and fantasy for Beth to work up any sort of nerve, and Rio hadn’t pressed it, dropped it practically entirely, like he thought maybe it wasn’t something she wanted and - - well.

She’d always liked surprising him.

So maybe she’d let him believe that as she’d planned the whole thing, from the time (an essential, really, with five kids who viewed any sort of privacy as an opt in they’d _opted out of_) to the place (the dining room – decorated with the whiteboard from their office and a few of their heaviest looking books) to the scenario.

Which - - okay.

He’d be a college student, and she’d be his TA. She’d ask him to stick around after class – that’s how they’d start, she’d decided at the time, biting her lip – and he would be a struggling student and she’d be offering him some extra credit (seductively, of course), and then they’d just - -

_Do it._

Only it hadn’t exactly gone down like that.

(“Oh, so you’re gonna teach me?”

“Mmhmm,” she’d hummed it softly, sweetly, pulling one of the books off the pile towards him. She’d been sure to press her breast into his arm as she’d done it, and Rio had watched her, twisting his neck in a way that let his gaze slip down the neck of her shirt.

“How you gonna do that, Ms. Marks?”

His tone was light, playful, as Beth dropped one of her hands to his inner thigh, thumbing the inner seam of his jeans, ghosting up, up, up.

“Well, first, you’re going to need to pay attention,” she’d said, trying to swallow any embarrassment as she opened the book onto a random page with the hand not moving towards his crotch. “If we’re going to get that GPA _up_.”

“Oh, it’s up, baby.”

Which - - already? Beth had glanced down between them, and he’d been a little hard, sort of, but not exactly straining against his fly or anything. She’d blinked, briefly confused, before her gaze flicked up to find him staring down at her.

“You think I ain’t doin’ well at college?”

The words had been so unexpected it had taken her a minute to process them, and when she had, she’s spluttered defensively, taking her hand off his crotch, or trying to at least. He grabbed her wrist, keeping her where she was.

“It’s not real,” she’d told him, and Rio had smiled at her, like it was just a joke, but there’d been an edge to it like maybe this part of the fantasy had pissed him off. But then - -

“God forbid you aren’t perfect even in make believe,” she’d replied snidely, and well, it had all been downhill from there).

At least he was able to joke about it now, Beth thinks, even if she wasn’t quite ready to, watching as Rio steps into their bedroom, stretching his shoulders back before grabbing his cell out of his pocket and running off a few messages. His forehead creases, as if he’s read something annoying, before he drops back onto the bed, leaving his legs hanging over the edge, his feet on the floor.

“The kids all down?” she asks, and Rio nods, dropping his cell onto his belly and yawning sleepily. He goes to rub at his face only to stop, and she sees it the moment he does – the glue from crafts that’s dried on one of his palms. He holds his hand up in the air above his face, picks at it almost aimlessly for a moment, and it’s so sudden, the heat that shifts through her. Beth sucks in a breath.

He’d played with the kids for the rest of the afternoon, leaving Beth free to make dinner, call Annie to confirm the plan for the Valentine’s Dance, and even pick through a catalogue, earmarking a few new swimsuits for Kenny. By the time she’d gotten back upstairs to check on them, the glitter, sequins, paints and the plastic art mat had all been cleaned and packed away, all of the kids’ cards spread out beneath the window, drying in the late afternoon sun. It had been enough on its own, but he’d gotten the kids washed for bed later that night too, made up stories for Jane and Marcus, braided Emma’s hair, and listened dutifully as Danny had whispered about the ink dye experiments they were doing at school while he coaxed him towards bed.

It had been - -

_Nice_, Beth thinks, biting the inside of her cheek, and sure, maybe they aren’t great at roleplaying, but there are plenty of other things they _are _good at. 

Knocking his legs far enough apart she can stand in-between them, Beth looks down at him, unable to entirely bite back the grin when he glances up at her from around his hands, popping an eyebrow as she bats his arm aside and bends forwards over him. She places her hands down on the bed on either side of his head, giving him an eyeful down her nightie in the process.

It’s enough to make him groan again, only it’s delighted this time as he grabs her ass and pulls her up over him properly, the motion leaving her flailing and laughing before she can help herself. She scrunches up her nose, trying to find her bearings as she quickly moves her legs to avoid kneeing him in the crotch, getting one on either side of his hips as his hands squeeze her ass. She means to tell him something, anything, then, a joke about impatience maybe, but he’s always been quick, and she’s barely had time to resettle when one of his hands comes up to free one of her breasts from her nightie, his head surging up enough to lick a hot, wet stripe across her exposed nipple.

It’s Beth who groans then, heat sparking through her, still trying to adjust over him as the hand on her ass slips down to the hem of her nightie, his hand snaking under it to knead at the back of her thigh. Keening, she rocks her hips down, settling her crotch over his, pushing her hands off the bed, onto his shoulders, then his chest, using the firmness of him beneath her to sit up and grind down against him, her panties soaked already and catching on the hard-toothed zip of his fly.

She gasps at the cold metal of the button grazing against her hot centre, and she feels more than hears Rio laugh underneath her. He tries to sit up to meet her, but her hands stay on his chest, pushing him back down.

“Oh, you lookin’ for a ride, mami?” he purrs, his hand coming up to hook a finger in the shoestring strap of her nightie, tugging it down her shoulder, her arm, enough to free her other breast, while she grinds against his now-hard cock. It’s really not fair, Beth thinks, the heat building, building, building in her, the way he looks at her as he undresses her, his lips wet, his eyes so dark they’re almost black, like he’s never seen her body before. Like she’s something he’s wanted forever – will always want – like he can’t believe she’s _his_.

Like he can and it still matters.

Like the prize was in more than just the winning.

She shivers, and his hand moves, letting the top of her nightie fall around her waist – to grip firm at her thighs, pulling her down against him as he bucks his hips up. It’s enough to make her yip, to feel herself bounce, her chest heave, and Rio groans again, guttural this time.

“C’mon, put me in you,” he tells her, and Beth lifts herself up on wobbly legs, her hands fumbling beneath them, popping the button of his jeans and yanking them down awkwardly (along with his underwear), his cock bobbing out of them – long and thick, in a way that makes her clench in anticipation. She really should put either of their fingers inside herself first, open herself up a bit, but she feels a strange sort of urgency in the moment of it – the need to be on him, to feel herself stretch around him, to feel him inside her in a way that goes beyond the way she _always_ feels him inside her, his voice in her head, some part of him trapped forever in the cage of her chest.

She repositions herself over him, ready to lower herself down, only Rio’s hands snap up beneath her thighs, lifting her slightly, holding her away from him. She blinks wildly over at him, her mind cloudy with her own need, her legs squirming against the sheets, her body sinking down in his grip, wanting just - - wanting _him_, and Rio smiles, and tugs her down promptly himself. 

The motion makes her suck in a breath, cough a little, the suddenness of being so _full _bringing tears to the corners of her eyes, and she blinks wildly, easing herself further down onto him, his hands beneath her thighs both firm and gentle, guiding and supportive, and he must feel it – that she wasn’t quite ready for him yet, but - -

But sometimes she likes that.

The burn of the friction, the sheer _size _of him inside her, the way she can take him, can make him know that she can take him. That she always wants to. He’s breathing heavy now too, and when she clenches around him, his eyes slip shut, and god, it feels good, to know she doesn’t need to take his clothes off to undress him.

She fucks herself down on his cock, her hand smoothing up his chest, fingers finding his neck, feeling the jump of muscles there as her inner walls flutter around him, and she grins, flushed and wet.

“Your card was not as cute as you thought it was,” she tells him then, and Rio’s eyes snap open, his eyelashes as wet as she thinks hers are. He smirks, dropping his gaze to where her breasts move every time she slides slowly up and then quickly down on his cock.

“Worked, didn’t it?”

He says it like they wouldn’t have been here anyway, and Beth rocks her hips, rolling her eyes, her fingers moving from his neck to his hand, grabbing it to place it against her clit. He doesn’t need any further instruction, placing that perfect, practiced pressure there, and Beth trembles on top of him. 

“Well, I will say I think it’s the best drawing you’ve ever done of yourself,” she tells him, and she means it light, but her voice feels wet and feeble, even to her own ears. God, she’s close already. _How_ is she this close already? “All legs and co - -”

Suddenly the world goes sideways, and Beth gasps, flailing as Rio rolls them over, pulling out of her to grab her by the backs of her thighs, tossing her further up the bed before scrambling up after her, pushing back inside in one long stroke. Beth hits his chest hard, tries to rock them back over, but it’s no use, he’s too heavy, too strong. She glowers up at him.

“What was that?” he asks her innocently, eyes wide as he grabs her behind her knees, hauling her legs up until they’re practically by her ears, angling himself deeper inside her in a way that has Beth briefly seeing stars.

And well - - she’s not sure if she can remember how to speak anymore, not with the divine snap of Rio’s hips against her open thighs, the slide of his cock inside her, and his fingers back on her clit. He comes down over her, so close Beth can feel the sweaty cotton of his t-shirt drag across her bare, pebbled nipples, and then his nose is dragging across her cheekbone, his breath hot against the curve of her own nose, and she’s so close and she’s so close and she’s - -

She opens her mouth to cry out, toppling over her orgasm, and Rio quickly catches her lips with his own, swallowing her moan and laughing against her lips as his thrusts start to stutter, and he must have curled his toes for purchase in the sheets, because suddenly he’s pushing harder, deeper, moving her up the bed like he’s trying to live inside her, and then he’s coming too.

For a minute, all Beth can hear is the shift of the sheets around them, the mattress below them as Rio slows his thrusts. All she can feel is his mouth on hers, kissing her lazily, his cock softening inside her, both of their orgasms leaking out of her around him. All she can smell is just - -

Him.

It’s him on top of her, him in these sheets, him in the wallpaper, screwed into the light fittings, his toothbrush beside hers in their en suite, his towel over the rail next to hers, him on her skin, in her hair, just - - in _her_, and she had it before with Dean, but it didn’t feel like _this_.

She sinks back down into the pillows, sated as Rio finally lets go of her leg, easing it back down gently before sliding out of her, nipping at her lower lip, just to make her keen, before he folds sideways, flopping onto his back in their bed.

Still, it takes her a minute even then to catch her breath, and Rio too if his stretch against the sheets is anything to go by, his hands finally finding the hem of his t-shirt to pull it up and off over his head, until he’s naked, even as Beth’s own hands find the top of her nightie and start to pull it back up over her chest. Which – well, doesn’t take a minute, if only because Rio doesn’t let her do it at all, batting her hands away and rolling onto his side to face her, replacing the would-be lace with his hand instead, cupping her breast with a hand still tacky with the remnants of glue. He rubs a thumb over her nipple, making her shiver.

Rolling her eyes, she only gives him a moment, before she lifts his hand up with her own, scratching her nails lightly down his fingers, picking off the crusty glue for him.

“You know who Pop’s Valentine is?” he hums lightly, watching her pick the tacky, dried glue off his hand, and Beth hums a little, focused. God, she loves his hands. 

“You mean it wasn’t me?” she jokes absentmindedly, and Rio huffs out a laugh, leaning in a little closer to her, just enough to hook his chin on her shoulder, alternating between looking up at her careful work on his hands, and down at her still naked breasts.

“Om Valentines don’t count,” he says. “Don’t think Od ones do neither, since your princess made me one.”

Beth snorts, remembering Emma’s lecture on the importance of choosing only _one _Valentine a year. She’s been driving Rio about as insane as she has her over the whole thing – the day having become a sort of marked date since Emma realised it involved three of her favourite things – romance, flowers, and the colour pink. It hadn’t been helped by the discovery that Mooney Ponds Middle School really _celebrated _the thing, with decorations, a dance, and an array of hall monitor cupids – fluffy white wings to go with their neon sashes.

“She takes it very seriously,” she tells him, and Rio huffs out a laugh in agreement. They’re quiet for a moment as Beth finishes pulling the bits of dried glue from Rio’s hand, dropping the scraps to her bedside table as Rio promptly puts his hand back on her breast, curling a little firmer now.

“It’s your sister. Pop’s Valentine,” he tells her, and god, Beth has to laugh at that. Rio had barely believed her when she’d first told him she thought Marcus had a crush on Annie, but it’s only grown over the last couple of years, his little flicker of puppy love turning into a blinding light of nine-year-old infatuation. Rio seems to catch the look on her face, and he exhales a laugh, rolling his eyes affectionately: “Yeah, yeah, you told me.”

“I did tell you,” she sniffs, her hand shifting to interlace with his on her breast. They both really should shower. Beth can still feel him leaking out of her, and she shifts a little on the bed, making sure her nightie’s at least covering enough of that part of her she hopefully doesn’t make a mess of their sheets. “You know Annie won’t drop it, right? So you better prepare yourselves for all her talk about Velasquez men and Marks women when she finds out.”

Rio grunts a little in reply, the sound somewhere between exasperation and acceptance, his fingers caressing the smooth skin of her breast. She can feel his breath starting to even out, like he might drift off to sleep, here and now, his body still stiff and sweaty, and Beth pinches his arm to wake him up.

“You need to shower,” she tells him, and he blinks his eyes up at her, his eyes so dark something in her stutters.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” he untangles his fingers from hers then, lowers it quickly and slips it up her nightie, cupping between her legs, feeling the mess he’s made there. “You gonna join me?”

*

Her legs are still wobbly with the aftershocks of just how creative Rio had gotten with the detachable shower head as she slips on a new, clean nightie and grabs her toothbrush from the sink, her gaze catching on Rio in the mirror as he finishes towelling himself off and steps into a pair of grey boxer-briefs. Starting to brush her teeth, she watches the line of his tanned back curve as he stretches out, stiff still from sitting on the floor all afternoon with the kids (and maybe a little more now, having held her up against the shower wall). And god - - she can’t help it, the way that affection in her grows all over again at the slight sheen of water at his chest and the tiny bubble of soap still caught behind his ear.

He moves to stand beside her at the sink, grabbing his own toothbrush, eyes on her in the mirror, and they’ve been together for years, and it still makes her smile, avert her gaze back to herself as she finishes brushing only to suddenly, surprisingly catch a small glimmer of silver on her neck. She pauses, spitting out her mouthful of toothpaste, before plucking the tiny sequin off her skin. She twists her finger slightly, lets it catch the light just like Emma had done that afternoon, and sighs.

Beside her, Rio spits out his own mouthful of toothpaste, turning enough to face her, pushing his hip into the sink. He just watches her look at the sequin for a minute, before sighing, grabbing her toothbrush from her other hand to wash it alongside his.

“It’s just a crush, mama,” he tells her, and then it’s Beth’s turn to sigh, flicking the sequin into the bin beneath the sink.

“I know that,” she tells him, her tone a little sharper than she intends as she turns on her heel and heads back into their bedroom, grabbing her lotion off the top of their dresser in the process. Somewhere behind her, she can hear Rio huff out an annoyed breath, but the thing is, he doesn’t _get it_.

Emma’s not like Marcus. She doesn’t have the sort of confidence that he has – would never think to stride across a room in front of their siblings and present her naked affection and love on a card like Marcus had. God, Emma had even been a mess on Father’s Day, needing to give Rio the braided bracelet she’d made him in private in case Jane or Kenny had seen it and laughed at her. 

Emma’s - -

_Fragile_, Beth thinks, and this boy - -

He’d already gotten her to do his homework for him before. He’d - -

He’d used her to _cheat_.

As soon as the thought hits her, Beth’s hand drops suddenly, heavily, onto the lotion nozzle, making it squirt too much cream in a long, aggressive arc across the belly of Beth’s new, clean nightie and across their duvet cover. She blinks furiously, trying to stimmy her thoughts as she grabs a tissue to wipe the lotion off before Rio comes out of the bathroom, but she’s too late. She feels his hand on her back before anything else, warm and firm, pushing her gently up onto the bed and out of the way.

He must’ve seen it happen, because he has a wet washcloth in his other hand already, and he makes quick, neat work wiping it off the duvet cover, and then, with a grin and a hand on her thigh, cleaning it off the belly of her nightie too.

“What’re you thinkin’?” he asks her, his voice deep, faux considering in that way that already has her setting her jaw. “We tell her Valentine’s is cancelled? Keep her home from the dance?”

Which - -

Okay.

“Of course not,” Beth tells him, her hand going to his on her thigh, tugging his fingers back, trying to pull him off her. Honestly, if he’s going to be like this, she’s not in the mood to have him pawing at her. She’s allowed to be worried about her daughter. She’s allowed to have feelings over her trying to make this boy her Valentine.

“Yeah, I see how that might be a problem,” Rio agrees, tightening his grip on her thigh even as he turns around to toss the wet washcloth into the laundry hamper by the bathroom door. “Ain’t gonna fix her havin’ heart eyes for this kid though, huh? Maybe we can separate ‘em. You got the time to home school her?”

Beth rolls her eyes, gives up on his fingers, instead staring up at him with an unimpressed look.

“Rio - -”

But he doesn’t let her speak, instead leaning forwards over her, like she’d done to him not even an hour earlier, and kisses her, short and sharp. When he pulls back, his eyes dart over her face, before settling back to meet her gaze, and he shakes his head, a grin twitching at his lips.

“She’s a kid with a crush, it ain’t nothin’, so why don’t you put all that worrying towards figuring out how you’re gonna move ten extra cars for me next week.”

And well, she pops an eyebrow at that, instantly distracted.

“Ten extra cars?”

“Ten extra cars,” Rio confirms, climbing over her to flop down on the bed beside her. He kicks the sheets down enough to slide beneath them, and Beth does the same. “Shiv called earlier. Got some extra pills he needs to offload. Said we could help him out. I got some contacts together already, just need you to schedule ‘em for us.”

“Schedule?” Beth asks, wriggling down beside him, unimpressed all over again. “What, am I your secretary now? Want me to start taking calls for you too?”

Rio grins up at the ceiling at that, a filthy edge to it as he waits for her to get down enough in the bed that he can push her onto her side and spoon up behind her back, his bare chest warm against her back and his fingers twisting in the fabric of her nightie.

“Mmm, like the sound of that,” he purrs, nosing into the back of her neck, as Beth rolls her eyes, lightly elbowing him in the stomach just to hear him grunt, the worry over Emma’s crush briefly forgotten, before she reaches out to turn off the light.

*

“Honey, just - - one more minute, okay?” Beth says, shaking the can of hairspray as Emma fidgets towards the mirror, desperate to get a look at herself now that Beth’s mostly finished with her hair – a pair of sweet tucked braids culminating in a loose twist that brings out the shine and length of it. Emma huffs out a little breath as Beth pushes her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes as she sprays the look firm.

“You look like Asami,” Jane calls from her spot behind them on Beth and Rio’s bed, collapsed onto her belly, already crinkling the dress Beth had somehow managed to bribe her into wearing, kicking her legs back against the mattress with a _thud, thud, thud_. At the mention of the _Legend of Korra _character, Emma flushes happily, bouncing a little as Beth finally finishes, letting her up to run over to the bathroom mirror, gasping in delight as she gently, reverently touches her hair.

Beth grins, before looking back over her shoulder at Jane.

“You want something special with your hair too?” she asks her, and Jane shakes her head, rolling over in bed so she’s on her back, wriggling up the mattress until her head is next to Beth’s thigh. She looks up at her, her green eyes big, and wrinkles her nose when Beth strokes a hand across her cheek.

“Do we _have _to go to the dance?” she says with a pout. “Can’t we just go straight to Aunty Annie’s?”

Which, surprisingly, had actually been Annie’s offer.

She’d pried for Beth and Rio’s Valentine’s Day plans, and on being reminded of the fact that they didn’t really _do _Valentine’s, and would instead be chaperoning the dance, Annie had been - - well. Suitably outraged.

(“So you’ve like, managed to lock down some monster hot, crime lord, sugar daddy, and instead of letting him whisk you away to – I don’t know – his love shack on his illegal private island for a night of romance and body tinglingly good sex, you’re going to chaperone a middle school dance together?”

“Okay, for starters, you _know _I earn my own money,” Beth had insisted, and Annie had rolled her eyes, like that wasn’t the point at all. “And besides, you know we don’t really do that sort of thing.”

“Just another reason why all this,” she gestured around Beth’s fancy kitchen, before creating a circle with one finger and sticking it with one from her other hand. “Is wasted on you.”)

Still, it had taken a couple of hours and more than a couple of drinks for Annie to offer to help them at the dance, to take the kids home with her afterwards too for a slumber party, so Beth and Rio could at least have the night afterwards to themselves, which had had Beth initially raising an eyebrow.

(“Really?” she’d asked sceptically at the time, wrinkling her nose, and Annie had thumbed the rim of her wine glass, looked away, and added:

“It’s not like I’m seeing anyone, and Greg has Ben this year.”

And - -

Well.)

“Aunty Annie wants to dance with you guys,” Beth tells Jane instead. “She’s meeting us there, because she and I have to swap cars too, remember? She can’t fit all five of you in hers.”

Jane huffs, but accepts it, dropping her head back enough to stare upside down at Emma, who’s toeing into a pair of (very) low pink heels and giving them both a spin, her blue, floral dress spinning around her as she does it.

“You look beautiful, honey,” Beth tells her, because she does, and Emma practically glows in reply, before suddenly standing up a little straighter. She pauses, looking at Beth, before summoning up the courage to just say whatever it was she had in mind.

“I picked outfits for you and Od. Special Valentine’s Day outfits.”

It’s enough to make Beth blink in surprise, glancing down at where Jane has her eyebrows halfway up her forehead, before she mumbles something that sounds distinctly like _this is something I _gotta_ see_, and right, Beth thinks. Emma knocks the toes of her shoes together, twists her hands at her waist, looks up at her so hopefully, so tentatively, that Beth just holds out her hands and says:

“Well, why don’t you bring them out and we can have a look?”

*

And god - - she just wishes she could stop _smiling_.

“You gonna stop, or - -?”

“You look nice, that’s all!” she insists, and Rio gives her a deadpan look that makes her smile widen. And the thing is he _does _look nice! Just - - nice would not usually be a word she’d use to describe the way he looks. Handsome, sure, sexy, even more so, dangerous and sharp and _good_, but not - -

_Nice_.

She bites back a noise that’s probably approaching a giggle, and Rio snorts, nodding at a waving parent chaperone who’s only just arrived. The school gymnasium is still pretty empty, but it’s only early in the evening (they’d been among the first to arrive – the concept of being _fashionably late_ instead of _punctual_ enough to practically give Emma hives), and whoever’s in charge of the playlist has deemed it appropriate to set a mood of probably inappropriate 80s pop songs that have to be more for the parents than the kids. The red, pink and yellow mood lighting though gives everything a warm glow and the faintly disconcerting vibe of being in a microwave, but their kids seem to like it at least, if Marcus and Jane playing volleyball with one of the balloons is anything to go by.

Taking a sip on her paper cup of (very) non-alcoholic punch, Beth watches as Rio suddenly dips a hand into the back pocket of his navy slacks, pulling out his work cell, and she resists the urge to frown. She’d have liked him to have left it at home, but she knows it isn’t really an option. He punches out a text, and Beth has another drink, swaying a little to the music on her own.

“Everything okay?” she asks quietly, and Rio just nods.

“You gonna be ‘right to take a car to Monroe on Sunday?”

Beth starts, turning on the spot to better face him, watching as the gymnasium lights blink pink and red across him. 

“That’s an hour and a half round trip,” she says slowly, and Rio nods, sucks in a breath, apologetic.

“I’d do it myself, but I gotta go over the border. Business to deal with in Atwood. We talked about it, remember?”

And to be fair, they did, Beth thinks, her gaze flicking back across his face, the questions burning again on the tip of her tongue. She knows it’s as much as he’ll give her, as far as he’ll budge on it, and she tries to remember the victory of that – him actually telling her _where _he’s going, even if it’s never entirely with what for or who with.

But still.

It’s not that simple.

Not anymore.

“Laura picks Marcus up tomorrow night,” she says, and Rio makes a noise of agreement. Beth bites her lip. “But Dean’s…”

It’s supposed to be Dean’s day to pick the kids up, but with Judith on vacation – a cruise, good for her – he’d lost his back-up and called Beth with an excuse instead. The drive was too long (like he hadn’t _chosen_ to live out at South Haven), that he had to work, that he wasn’t sure where the kids were at with their school work anymore, that he hadn’t found the time to organise those sailing classes he’d been promising Kenny, the new bed sheets for Jane since she’d outgrown the duckie ones.

She sighs, glancing back at Rio, but he finishes her thought before she can even summon the words.

“Already asked Aida, she can take ‘em to the club for the day. Swimmin’, tennis. They won’t miss us.”

She exhales again, but nods, already dreading the prospect of asking Annie or Ruby to follow her so one of them can drive her home. Ruby’s got church in the morning, but maybe after. She takes another sip of her punch, before glancing back at Rio, tapping away on his phone.

Her own suddenly chimes, and she fumbles with it briefly in her purse, jerking it out to find a calendar invite that simply reads _Marilyn_.

Beth rolls her eyes, amused more than anything.

“Cute,” she tells him, watching Rio’s smug grin, and it’s quick, the pinging energy of their week, their history, his words from the other day bandying about in her head, and - - well. “Look who’s scheduling now.”

She lets her gaze flick down to the pale blue shirt he’s wearing – the one Emma had picked out – the navy slacks and slim tie, and god, it had been a joke, but it really does make him look cleaner somehow. Straighter. The softer colours smoothing out his sharp edges.

“Maybe you’ll be my secretary instead.”

Before she can think any more of it, she leans forwards, flicking up the end of his tie in jest, and Rio snorts, quickly grabbing her hand with his and using it to tug her closer. She stumbles only briefly, her body colliding with his, and she sucks in a breath at the firmness of him, and then again at the way he sucks his lips in.

“Yeah? That do it for you, ma? Me gettin’ you organised? Gettin’ you o–”

“Beth! Christopher!”

Gracelessly, Beth springs away from him as Heather and Andy Pope start towards them, Heather’s bleach blonde hair bright and her white dress painstakingly tight.

“Hi,” Beth says, and beside her Rio grunts, his focus reverting back to his phone as he punches in a few messages, and right, Beth thinks, straightening out her dress – something red and flowing she hasn’t worn in years, but Emma had wanted the colour (“It’s _romantic_,” she’d insisted, her cheeks flushed with excitement and earnestness and Beth had sighed as she’d finished zipping it up) – she’s probably on her own for this one. Rio’s never really gotten the PTA thing. He’d much rather just pay up than get involved, but it’s still important to Beth – that feeling of being a part of it all.

“You can’t even begin to know how glad I am to see you,” Heather titters when she gets to them, patting her husband on the shoulder and directing him towards the table for punch. “The only other parents I knew were chaperoning were the Rodney’s, and I’m not sure I could bear three hours of listening to Vanessa talk about molluscs.”

“She’s certainly passionate about them,” Beth agrees, but then, she’s not sure three hours of inevitably listening to Heather talk about her organic, single wick, soy wax candles is any better. She sighs internally, standing up a little straighter as Heather does – seemingly looking over Beth’s shoulder to where her husband is still teetering indecisively at the punch table.

“Not that one,” she calls, voice terse. “Andy, I want the - - the peach one, not the blackcurrant, oh my god.”

Her gaze dips back to Beth, and she shakes her head, long-suffering as Andy tips a cupful of punch back into the bowl.

“Men,” she says with a sigh, and Beth makes a vague noise in the back of her throat, taking a sip of her own punch and watching as Heather’s gaze slides across to Rio beside her, who’s still working on his phone. “Not yours of course.”

And the words are aimed at Beth, but said to Rio, and it’s all Beth can do not to roll her eyes, watching as Heather pushes her hip out a little, her posture softening, easing into a faux casual lean. She’s dressed up for the occasion – a tight, white dress with a smattering of blue flowers across it which Beth doubts she can bend down in, a pair of glittery blue pumps, sapphire earrings that she’s sure cost more than her entire wardrobe – and it’s good, Beth acknowledges, that the other woman clearly feels good, but still. It’d be nice if she could dial back openly eye-fucking Rio every time she sees him.

Beth’s gaze slips sideways to where Rio’s sliding his cell back into his pocket, his own attention finally shifting over towards Heather, and he grins at her, something benign and charming as he drops a hand to Beth’s ass and squeezes _hard_. It’s enough to make her jump a little, her hand coming behind her to bat at his arm and Rio laughs, jerking his chin sideways at Heather then out towards Andy.

“He doin’ alright over there?”

Colour blooms and then brightens at Heather’s cheeks, floods her neck, under Rio’s attention, even as her eyes drop sharply to where she can see Rio’s arm between them, no doubt knowing exactly where his hand is. Heather purses her lips, waving her own hand out in their general direction.

“He’ll get there,” she hums, and Beth blinks, a little amused as Heather rounds her attention back to them. “I’ve got to say, I’m a little surprised to see you both here. Sort of thought you’d have a special night planned.”

Before Beth can reply, the gymnasium doors burst open in the distance and a gaggle of kids pour through – a few baby-faced boys in brightly coloured sneakers and a gaggle of girls with high ponytails, their skinny legs bare between their miniskirts and plastic, platform shoes. The image makes something in Beth tighten, her gaze darting to find Emma, still pressed against the far wall, in her flowing maxi dress, her hair twisted back off her face. Beth frowns, watching her daughter watch these girls, watching her clutch her little, sparkling purse to her belly, and she can’t tell if it’s the light or if it’s a blush that’s making Emma’s cheeks burn so bright.

“We don’t really do holidays like this,” Beth aims back at Heather, off-hand, her gaze still fixed on Emma. Vaguely, she’s aware of Rio’s hand sliding off her ass, moving up to squeeze her hip.

“Five kids, y’know,” he says, and in the distance, Emma raises a hand to tuck her hair behind her ears – a nervous habit – before she realises there’s no hair loose to tuck.

Her fingers twitch, and so do Beth’s.

“But none together, right?”

Beth blinks, attention pulled from Emma as she reels around to look at Heather instead, the other woman staring between them, a look Beth can’t read on her face, and she just - - can’t explain it. The stranger feeling barrelling through her veins, setting her nerves on edge, because it’s not like Heather’s _wrong_, they don’t have any together, but - -

“Nah,” Rio drawls, his grip tightening on her hip as he pulls Beth firmer into his side, like he can feel the tension in her, and Beth squints a little back at Heather, trying to decipher the other woman’s expression and when she can’t, she schools her own look, dropping a hand possessively to Rio’s shoulder. 

“Speaking of kids, how’s Paxton going?” Beth asks, tilting her head a little to the side. “Emma mentioned he got into a fight with Bradley Thompson last week?” 

And okay, so it’s a low blow, Beth’s big enough to admit that, but she can’t help the thrum of satisfaction that ricochets through her when Heather’s cheeks pink and she finally stops looking at them like _that_, even as Rio squeezes her hip a little rougher in a way that feels vaguely like disapproval. Beth avoids his gaze, as Heather clears her throat.

“Yeah, fists and all,” the other woman says, her voice dry. “But I’m sure Emma told you that too, huh? Or if not her, I’m sure Rebecca filled you in on the details at Tuesday’s PTA meeting.”

Somewhere behind them, a teacher breaks up a couple, somebody asks Andy for more punch, sneakers squeak on the gymnasium floor, and any satisfaction drains out of Beth. Heather’s not wrong after all – Rebecca had wasted no time telling everyone about Paxton’s behavioural issues, and it had sent Beth right back to her divorce, to Kenny’s binge eating, to Fran Bestle’s excited whisperings about keeping him away from the bake sale fundraiser, and right, Beth thinks, guilt uncurling like a fist in her chest.

“Boys at that age are hard work,” she offers apologetically, but Heather’s already pulled her attention away from them, fixing it instead on Andy, who still lurks at the drinks station, pouring punch into paper cups.

“Andy!” Heather yells, bridging the distance. “How hard is it to get punch? God!”

Which is a fair point, Beth thinks, twisting in Rio’s grip to look at Andy herself, but she’s barely had the chance to take him in before Heather is flailing out a hand again, her own gaze briefly lingering on Rio, before she says:

“I’ll see you two later. Looks like I can’t even trust him to get me a drink.”

She lets loose a long-suffering sigh before striding off in the direction of her husband, and Beth watches her go, taking her hand off of Rio’s arm and stepping a little back. She still feels - - _prickly _\- - she thinks, Heather’s attention to Rio annoying enough on it’s own (albeit not uncommon), but the note on her - - _their_ \- - children - -

(After all, it was Rio who was _here_. Rio who thought to organise Aida before even talking to Beth, Rio who’d stayed up last week with Jane’s nightmare, who’d listened to Kenny practice his presentation on _Lord of the Flies _all weekend. What did it matter? That they weren’t theirs together?)

Beth swallows, gaze darting back to Rio, who’s turned his attention back to his phone, entirely unbothered, before she settles it back on Heather, watching the other woman snatch up her own paper cup, posture stiff as she pours herself a drink.

“I don’t know how he puts up with her,” Beth says with a huff, watching as the space between Andy’s shoulders dampens with sweat. “She’s relentless.”

Beside her, Rio just hums, his thumbs clicking against his phone screen.

“He’s doin’ fine, trust me,” Rio says, and he must feel it when Beth shoots him a questioning look, because he glances up at her just long enough to shrug and add: “He’s fucking Vanessa.”

Which - -

_What? _

Reeling around so fast her shoes slip a little on the polished floor, Beth stares at him, her face marred in disbelief, because what is he _talking about_?

“_No,_” Beth insists, and Rio just hums, his fingers quickening.

“Amanda too.”

Beth twists again to where Andy and Heather are arguing over the drink. She takes in Andy’s boring suit, his tidy hair, his thin, wireframed glasses, and the blotchy red embarrassment on his cheeks as Heather reams him out, and Beth squints a little, trying to see what Rio sees.

“How do you even know that?” she asks, scepticism still heavy in her tone as Rio huffs out his own disbelieving laugh in reply.

“Oh, c’mon, baby, they ain’t tryna hide it.”

She just stares at him, and Rio’s face softens, but it’s not in a nice way, it’s _patronising, _and Beth scowls in response.

“Didn’t realise I was talking to the expert on PTA gossip,” she says, pushing her shoulders slightly back. “Besides, if anyone’s cheating, it’s Heather.”

The words are enough to make Rio bark on a laugh, his cell finally forgotten as he shakes his head back at her.

“_Nooo._”

“Yes!” Beth insists, waving a flailing hand out at him. “Or did you miss the way she was undressing you with her eyes?”

Rio’s face mellows into a playful grin as he says:

“Nah, I never miss that, darlin’.”

And right, Beth thinks, folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes.

“Why am I not surprised?”

The sound of his laugh is melodic this time, vibrant over the new wave of children arriving, and she watches them for a minute, something like relief uncurling in her when she sees Emma’s friend, Willow, among them, and even more so when she watches the little girl beeline happily in Emma’s direction. She exhales a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding when she sees Emma’s face brighten, only to suck it in again when she hears Rio scoff beside her.

Beth twists, looking at him, only to see him staring out over at Heather and Andy. They can’t hear them from here, but it’s not hard to see the tightness at Heather’s mouth or the way red creeps up Andy’s neck as he meekly looks at his feet. Rio turns to stare at Beth, his forehead furrowed in disbelief.

“Yeah, _she’s _the one fuckin’ other people,” he says sarcastically, and Beth purses her lips at him, gesturing back to where Heather’s spun around now, and is _clearly _staring at the 23-year-old DJ, because come _on_, she’s practically - -

“Please don’t tell me you guys are fighting.”

Annie’s voice cuts through her line of thinking, and Beth looks over to spot her sister heading towards them, her glittery-lidded eyes squinting between the two of them, like she’s trying to get a read on what she’s walking into. The look’s enough to make Rio shrug, to gesture at Beth with his phone.

“Nah,” he says. “Your sister just ain’t pickin’ up what people are puttin’ down.”

The sound of Annie’s laugh echoes up through the space between them, and Beth rolls her eyes, thrusting her weight into her hip as she refocuses on the crowd before them, only stopping to send Annie a dirty look when she says:

“So business as usual then, cool. Hey, there any snacks at this thing, or what?”

*

“…And _then _he said that he wanted to buy Ben a _new _car, not a used one, and that he wants to pick it since he _assumes _he’ll be the one paying for it, which - - okay. _Firstly_, he _knows _you and me have the dealership now, but didn’t say jack about that, and _secondly_, my kid is not going to be that asshole learning to drive in a Bentley. He’s gonna learn how to drive in some safe, shitty hatchback like the rest of us had to.”

Beth makes a noise of agreement in the back of her throat, pushing out her hip as she watches Annie finally come up for air – or maybe not air, if the way she shoves her straw back into her mouth and drains half her can of pop is anything to go by.

“Well, what did Greg say?” she asks, genuinely curious, and more than a little sympathetic. Greg’s parents had been a nightmare even before Annie had gotten pregnant, the two of them some militant, waspy pair that golfed on weekends and only saw the value in their kids (and their kids’ kids) if they’d done something worth bragging about (something teen pregnancies certainly did not equate to).

“Nothing! You know how he gets around his dad, all _yes sir, no sir, please not the cane, sir_. Ugh, it makes me sick. I thought one of the perks of getting divorced was being able to forget about your in-laws.”

Which - - well. Beth snorts a little at that, taking a sip on her own punch and letting her eyes dart sideways at where Kenny’s following around one of the few girls his age at the dance, making puppy dog eyes that remind Beth so much of Dean she lets out a breath.

“Nope,” she says dryly, mind drifting to the last time Judith had popped by ‘just because’. “Instead you just lose the buffer of your ex.”

The words are enough to make Rio glance sideways at her from where he’d been pointedly ignoring the conversation more or less since it began, out of respect for Beth or in an effort to prolong his Annie-tolerance, Beth can’t quite be sure. Still, she clears her throat a little, pointedly avoids his gaze as she focuses back on Annie.

“At least Judith brings food,” Annie moans, shifting her weight backwards. “I don’t think _Gabby _has eaten since 2003.”

Beth snorts, opening her mouth to reply, when suddenly Annie tosses her arms out, a grin crossing her face as Marcus and Jane tumble into them.

“Aunty Annie!”

“Finally! I thought maybe you both decided you were too cool to hang with me in public like your brothers,” she coos, and Beth grins, watching as Marcus’ cheeks flush, his eyes finding Beth and holding his hand out expectantly. It’s all it takes for Beth to fish around in her purse for the card he made Annie, and her grin only widens watching as Marcus dutifully presents it.

The sound that escapes Annie’s mouth is shrill enough to make them all wince, and Jane untangles herself from clutching at Annie’s waist to bound over and latch onto Rio’s instead.

“Oooodddd, you gotta change the music.”

Rio pops an eyebrow at her, shoving his cell into the back pocket of his slacks and reaching down to grab Jane beneath the arms, pulling her up against him. It’s hard not to be amused at how quickly Jane ragdolls now when he picks her up – the memory of her flailing, kicking annoyance when she was littler still firm in Beth’s head. 

“Yeah? Why do I gotta do that?”

“Because it’s really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really - -”

Which - - okay. Beth shoots Rio an exasperated look, but Rio doesn’t return it, just pops an eyebrow at Jane as he holds her against his chest.

“You gonna get to that point?”

Jane giggles, but doesn’t relent, and Beth’s gaze shifts back to Marcus’s bright blush as Annie tugs him into another hug.

“- - really, really, really, really _bad_.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“You asked other people if they mind it?”

“Yes! I asked Marcus, and Emilio Cortez, and Jamal Gibson, and _loads _of other people, and they all said it was bad too.”

Which isn’t wrong, Beth thinks, tuning into the frenetic tempo of whatever pop song is playing now, the lyrics sung with a dense sort of vocal fry that reminds Beth of nights in with Ruby watching _Real Housewives_. She glances sideways at Rio, who drops Jane back to the floor at his feet, holding out his hand for her to take it, and then the other out towards Marcus, who says a sweet goodbye to Annie before bounding over to his father.

“Guess we gotta see if we can get ‘em to change it then, huh?”

He steps a long leg forwards, and Beth watches as he lets Jane and Marcus race ahead, tugging him along across the dancefloor towards the DJ booth, their mouths running a million miles a minute as they list off what music they’d prefer (Jane’s insistence that even the sound of Buddy farting would be more fun making Beth wince). Still, it’s nice to watch them, she thinks, the line of Rio’s back relaxed, his big, steady hands swallowing up his son’s, her daughter’s, and it’s strange, how quickly Heather’s words claw back into her head.

Does it matter? That they don’t have one together?

What would that - - _they _\- - even _look _like?

“Damn, B, you need a minute?”

Annie’s tone is loaded enough to yank Beth from her thoughts, making her glance back around to where she stares at her knowingly, which is pretty ridiculous, Beth thinks, rolling her eyes, because she clearly doesn’t know anything.

“So what’s the plan anyway? Gonna break out the handcuffs?”

The question comes so suddenly, so out of the blue, that Beth blinks rapidly, twists on the spot, almost spilling her punch everywhere in the process.

“What are you talking about?”

And that only proves enough to make Annie roll _her_ eyes, thrust her hips backwards and forwards for a minute, the movement making her handbag swing at her side.

“For your kinky sex night.”

She can feel it – the heat erupting across her chest – spilling out over her skin so fast, so indelicately, she’s got to be the same colour as the dress Emma had picked out. Her eyes dart back out across the dance floor, catching a glimpse of Heather fussing over Paxton’s hair, of Kenny walking backwards, chatting to the girls still, hands buried in the pockets of his slacks, and, of course, Rio, both his hands still caught in Marcus and Jane’s respective grips, being dragged towards the DJ, and nobody’s heard her, Beth knows, but still. She has to say it.

“_Annie_! We are at a _middle school dance_.”

“Exactly,” Annie replies easily, shrugging as her hips slow. She gestures wildly around at the gymnasium, before looking back at Beth. “You think any of these kids are listening to us? Please.”

Which - - okay, so they’re probably not, but Beth still glowers at her, finishing her punch just so she can crush the paper cup in her hand and fold her arms over her chest.

“Are you seriously not going to tell me what you’re planning?”

“We’re not planning anything,” Beth insists, and when Annie gives her a look like she doesn’t believe her, Beth adds: “We’re going to go home, probably have a drink, and then probably go to bed.”

“Yeah, I get that part,” Annie says impatiently. “The question is what you’re planning on doing once you’re _in_ bed.”

“Annie - - ”

“C’mon, sis! Just give me a hint! I’m dying over here. This is like, my longest dry spell ever, and I’m trying to be _responsible _and stuff so I need _something_. Everything’s just –”

Annie sighs, and the sound is petulant, it _is_, but it’s also just a bit sorry for herself in a way that makes Beth pause. She finds herself looking at Annie properly again, remembering the way she’d asked to have the kids tonight, the way she’d looked a few weeks ago at family dinner, when Ben had been excitedly talking about potential colleges, trying so hard to put on a brave, happy face, and Beth sighs.

“I don’t know,” she says, caving. “Maybe we’ll - - use - - you know. _Things_.”

And in her head she thinks she _does _have that lingerie set that she knows Rio loves her in. The one that makes her feel so sexy, and it wouldn’t take much to slip away to the bathroom when they get home and put it on. Maybe light some candles too (maybe even one of Heather’s, Beth thinks with a snort), and - -

“Like a butt plug?”

Beth’s heart leaps into her throat as her gaze darts around the gymnasium before settling back on Annie again. She glowers, her cheeks flushed as she grits her teeth.

“No, _Annie_, not a _butt plug_. I meant like - - ” and she flails out a hand. She should just say it, but she can hear it already, the _judgement _in Annie’s voice if she finds out Beth had meant panties and candles. She clears her throat, and Annie squints at her.

“Cock ring? For some reason, I never thought he’d be into that.”

Which - -

Beth’s eyes flutter shut. 

“Oh my god.”

“Okay, not that sort of thing, hm. Sex bench? Ooo, sex _swing_.”

“Annie!”

“Flavoured lube? Bondage?”

“You need to sto - -”

“Roleplay?”

And god, _no_, but she just can’t help it - - it’s the memory of their failed attempt, the way Rio had made that joke the other day, the other night. It’s enough to make her flush darken even more, so much she must look purple, and Annie gasps _loud_.

“Are you kidding me?”

The cackle that escapes Annie’s mouth is enough to attract a few looks from other parents, and Beth aims a weak smile at them before spinning back around to Annie. Before she can even cut her off though, Annie says:

“Oh my god, you guys _roleplay?_ As _what_? Normal people?”

“We do _not _rol - -”

“Do you guys like, pretend you _actually _met at a grocery store or something? That you accidentally took the last avocado instead of like, half a million dollars of his money?”

The heat feels like it’s circled her at this point, the rush of embarrassment spreading across her, _through _her, and it’s not just Annie’s words, it’s the memory of that night, in that stupid outfit, all those books, and Rio’s irritation when she’d been trying to - -

“Annie, _stop it_,” she hisses, keeping her voice low but sharp, flailing a hand out at her sister. “Me and Rio _don’t _roleplay, not now, not ever, and we certainly won’t be doing it tonight while you watch movies with our children, so can you just - - ”

“Damn, when did we decide that?”

And of course, Beth thinks, letting her eyelashes flutter shut. Of course, she realises now, the music’s changed. Of course it means Rio’s done talking to the DJ, of course it means he’s back, just in time to hear her say _that_.

She blinks her eyes back open, turning just enough to see Rio back beside her, the look on his face only mildly amused, and Beth smiles a little weakly in reply as Annie titters behind her, saying something about going to give Marcus that dance she promised him, and _of course _to that too, Beth thinks.

The music he’s managed to change it to isn’t exactly better, but it’s certainly something Jane and Marcus seem more inclined to, if the way they’re practically rolling around on the floor amidst the older kids is anything to go by, and Beth really should tell them to get up, to calm down, but she can’t quite take her eyes off Rio.

After a minute, two, he buries his hands in the pockets of his slacks, rolling his shoulders back, and looking briefly away.

“Not ever, huh?”

“I figured we were both probably in agreement that we were bad at it,” she says, leaning back into the wall, and Rio hums, rocks his jaw a little, his gaze still out over the crowd. It takes him a moment to come and stand beside her, to tear his gaze off the mass of kids, to the floor, then finally to her.

He wets his lips.

“Yeah,” he drawls, slow and languid. “See this is why you ain’t any good at figurin’ shit like this out on your own.”

Beth arches an eyebrow at that, lips parted, twisting to stare at him in disbelief.

“Oh, I’m sorry, so you’re saying it was good for you?”

Rio huffs out a laugh.

“I didn’t say that.”

The concession is enough to make Beth squint a little at him, to deflate, and god, she doesn’t know why he’s _pushing _this again. Ever since that afternoon with the kids making cards, since they’d started talking about Valentine’s Day at all, it’s like something in him – in _them _– had put this front of mind again.

“It was really bad,” Beth repeats, punctuating the point with a clipped tone, and Rio hums in agreement. “I don’t know why you want to try it again.”

He looks at her, his forehead furrowed, his gaze darting over her face, her features, down her neck, chasing the flush on her, before he sucks in his lips.

“You wanted to try it,” he says slowly. “And I ain’t ever known you to quit because somethin’ didn’t go down the way you wanted it to.”

The song slows to a stop, and it’s not long until the chatter of the kids explodes again, calling out requests like they’ve just realised that’s something they can do now, and Beth ignores it all as she takes in the handsome lines of Rio’s handsome face, his words echoing still through the cavern of her head.

“You feel bad,” she says, squinting a little, because she thinks maybe he does. “That you ruined it.”

He scoffs, but she knows that he’s ready for it, because it’s seconds before he drops his head, leans in a little closer, says:

“Or maybe I just wanna see you in that skirt again, Ms. Marks.”

His voice is so low that Beth can barely hear it over the frenetic energy of the school gymnasium – the abrupt crescendo of a new song, the slap of little hands hitting balloons back and forth, the giggling girls, the bellowing boys – but still. The husky tenor of it is enough to make her shiver, even if she does turn an amused look back at him.

“Well, you were a terrible student,” she tells him, and Rio huffs out a laugh, shrugs a little back at her as if to say _fair call_. He leaves it a moment, two. Leaves it just long enough she thinks he’s going to leave it all alone (and she can’t quite explain the disappointment she maybe feels at that, because god, hadn’t she _wanted _him to leave it alone?), when suddenly he doesn’t.

“We could do somethin’ else with you in that skirt,” he tries, and Beth blinks over at him, eyebrows raised. “You still feelin’ secretary?”

Heat drags low and hot through her, and the thing is, there _is _something there in it. The idea of slipping below his desk like she has before, of sliding her hands up his thighs, loosening his belt and getting her mouth on his cock.

Of seeing him above her, his own mouth open, panting, trying to work.

Her hands tightening on his open thighs, holding him in place.

She swallows, glancing over at him and trying to keep her look sweet as she says:

“Yeah, for you.”

It’s enough to make him laugh for real this time, head back and the sound bright, and Beth can’t help but smile back at him, a flush finding her cheeks before she can help it, because now that the image has held, she can’t shake it loose.

“You’d look good in an office,” she hums, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her, amused, and just - - she can see that too, that’s all. Him in this too-sweet shirt Emma had picked out, standing in a boardroom or behind a desk, presenting in meetings, his big hands making shadows through clean projector light, pointing at graphs, pie charts, dense lines of statistics. It’s enough to make something hot sprawl languid through her, and it’s weird, how much the image just sort of does it for her. Less weird is how quickly Rio seems to pick up on it.

“Oh, you wanna play it that way, huh?” he asks, leaning across the crepe paper decorations, voice low beneath whatever Katy Perry song is now playing, the pink light washing over him. “Want to catch me lookin’ over filing cabinets? Want me to call you into my office?”

He moves just a little closer again, enough she can feel his hot breath against the shell of her ear, and she shivers even before he adds: “Bend you over my desk?”

“_My _office,” Beth sniffs, ready for him, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she can even help it. She looks at him, catches his dark eyes looking at her breasts, so adds: “_My _desk,” just to make his gaze snap up.

He rolls back against the wall, laughing, and Beth shifts her weight, looking back out across the crowd. Her gaze catches on Annie dancing with Marcus and Jane, then skirts out to where Danny is dancing with a girl in his class, and then to Emma, still nervously glued to the wall. Something in Beth holds fast, any warmth or playfulness draining out of her, and Rio seems to feel it, because he doesn’t push any further, doesn’t keep up the banter, not as Emma sways a little on the spot, her fingers clenched in the strap of her little sparkly purse, her gaze fixed on Tyson Wu. Beth sighs, her gaze drifting again when she hears Rio snort beside her.

Beth looks at him in question, and Rio jerks his chin over at where Andy is refilling the trays on the snack table with Vanessa Rodney, Heather down the other end of the thing, practically draped over a laughing, flushing Eric Scott, but Rio isn’t looking at Heather. He’s still focused on Andy and Vanessa, who are quiet if they’re talking at all and like, two feet apart. Beth rolls her eyes.

“You can’t be serious,” she says, and when Rio twists around, his eyebrow raised, Beth gestures pointedly back to Heather, which only makes Rio scoff.

“Nah, mama, it ain’t her, trust me.”

“It _is_,” she insists, and Rio snorts on a laugh, but still, he looks at Heather and Eric again, considering, like he’s trying to see what Beth sees, but then shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says again, and Beth looks at him, and she thinks about what Annie had said, and she thinks about tonight, and she thinks about him – in that shirt, playing secretary for _her_, and - - huh. She bites the inside of her cheek, something hot flushing through her, and the words are out of her mouth before she can think twice:

“Wanna bet on it?”

Rio jerks his head around to stare at her, popping an eyebrow, and his gaze darts over her face, like he’s trying to get a read on her, then down to the dip of her cleavage, and he sucks in his lips.

“What are we gamblin’ for?”

And, well, Beth thinks, a grin twitching at her own lips, the image of him bringing her coffee, jotting down her thoughts, preparing her files, on his knees, between her legs, springing too quickly, too easily to mind.

“Who plays the secretary.”

His grin splits his face in two, before he schools it.

“Oh, you sure you wanna play a losin’ game, Elizabeth?”

“You sure you do?”

Rio just looks at her, and it shoots something hot through her, the image of him sharpening in her head, and - - 

“Come on,” she says, her confidence building. “Let’s do it tonight. What do you have to lose?”

*

The smell of chocolate fudge brownies and powdered sugar hits her nose as Beth helps Heather lay out some of the fresh platters of snacks along the backwall tables, somehow managing to evade the mass of grabbing, children’s hands in the process. They’re done with most of their small talk – any conversation about Emma and Paxton’s sixth grade teacher, the end of term field trip, summer camp exhausted – when Beth eyes Rio across the fray, his sleeves rolled up and his tie a little loose as he talks to Andy about something or other (and she really does hate it sometimes – how easily Rio can lay on the charm and get even straight-laced, boring Andy comfortable and laughing).

She clears her throat a little, watching as Heather pushes some of her lemon bars onto one of the empty platters, her own hands making mindless work wiping the smears of little, chocolatey fingers from the table.

“So,” Beth says, trying to keep her tone light. “You seem pretty friendly with Eric.”

And okay, maybe it’s not her best probing opener, but whatever, she thinks, eyeballing Heather for any hint of a reaction. The other woman though just smiles, nods, stacking her dish on top of one of the others.

“Oh, yeah, he’s great. I knew his wife really well, but didn’t have much to do with him before he and Andy started co-coaching the soccer team together. Goooo Dalmatians!”

She fists the air a little awkwardly, teetering in her heels, and Beth lets herself mirror the action.

“I’ll have to get used to saying that,” she replies breezily, and when Heather looks up in question, Beth shrugs. “Marcus and Jane’ll probably join the team when they start here next year.”

A sound of delight escapes Heather’s mouth as she finishes stacking the empty plates and grabs a wet cloth to help Beth clean up the remaining mess.

“Oh, that’s cute! I didn’t want to assume, since Emma didn’t sign up. I’ll tell Andy to keep an eye out for them,” she says, and Beth smiles, even as her mind runs through ways to get the conversation back to Eric, when the other woman adds: “You know, you’re so lucky with the two of them. I could tell you some personal horror stories about step-siblings not getting along, trust me.”

The words are enough to make Beth blink, glancing up at Heather again in surprise.

“Oh! I thought Paxton and Lila were both yours and Andy’s?”

“They are. No, I meant me.”

Heather moves sideways, just down to where the bin is, shakes out her rag full of crumbs and the tiny, scattered flakes of coconut. She picks a few little shards out from beneath her perfectly manicured nails before circling back to Beth. “My father re-married four times, so I have a few of them.”

A few feet down, Andy suddenly laughs, the noise jerking Beth’s attention around to where Rio paints on a big, artificial grin, the edge of it sharp, like the conversation with the other man is starting to chafe, and god, Beth can’t quite say she blames him. She’s only gotten stuck talking to Andy twice at PTA mixers, and both times were more than enough, and it’s sudden then, the thought of Dean. Beth blinks, remembers her own father’s absence, how Dean had seemed - - _safe_. Is that why Heather had married him too? The security of someone who you’d think would never leave you?

She bites the inside of her cheek, watching Andy gesture, Rio shake his head, and when she turns back to Heather, the other woman is watching them too, and maybe Beth wonders if Heather’s thinking the same thing.

She frowns a little, dropping her hand back down to the table.

“I didn’t know that about your father,” she offers, and it’s enough to pull Heather’s attention back to her, for the other woman to shoot her an amused look.

“It’s not something I generally open with,” she says wryly, and well, Beth knows that feeling too. She shifts her weight, turns her attention back to a particularly caked on smear of red velvet frosting and wiping it off.

“Well, I’m sorry. That must’ve been tough while you were growing up.”

Heather though just shrugs.

“Could’ve been worse. Better than growing up with unhappy pare - - Hey! Pax! You know I can see you, right?”

Heather’s words are immediately followed by the sound of feet hitting the floor, and Beth’s head reels around to where Paxton stands, a chair still wobbling behind him, like he’s just leapt off it, apparently about to air jump one of his friends. She can’t help the laugh, rolling her eyes good naturedly along with Heather as the other woman sighs in exasperation, leaning around Beth to gesture over at Andy.

“You want to keep an eye out for our kid, babe? You know. The blond who lives in our house? Looks just like you?”

The blotchy flush has returned to Andy’s neck – clawed it’s way out beneath the collar of his shirt, wrapped around his throat like an ugly scarf – but Beth barely sees him, instead watches Rio, watching Andy’s reaction, a look of mild contempt on his face.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Heather says back to Beth. “_Men_. See, this is why I think you and Christopher have the right idea. Five kids is a lot, but none together means he doesn’t get to quit.”

Which - -

_What? _

Beth jerks her attention away from Rio, blinking rapidly at the other woman, taking in the casual look to her face, the honest, flippant slope of her mouth.

“I - - don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Heather just gives her a look.

“Please,” she says, waving her free hand out at Beth as she drops the dirty, crumby rag into the bin. “You’re divorced, I know you know what I mean. No man who sees you push his kid out of your vagina wants to stick himself in it the same way again. You become The Mother, not his wife, not his partner. Mom. His kids’ mom, _his _mom. Even the sex becomes a chore because they don’t gotta try with _mom_.”

It’s the strangest thing – the way her heart stutters in her chest, the way the air suddenly feels pulled from the room, and Beth’s hands still against the table, the last smear of frosting briefly forgotten. Her gaze flicks over to where Heather has moved on to making rough work of sticking toothpicks into cheese cubes, watching the other woman’s sinewy arms jerk. Somewhere past them Beth can hear Paxton yell and knows he’s jumped on his friend anyway. She can hear Andy make a weak effort at telling him off without walking over. She can hear Annie’s laugh, loud, bright, tangled up with her own children’s, and she thinks - - well.

She thinks a lot of things.

“You and Andy seem really happy,” Beth says, finally cleaning up the last part of the last table, and Heather snorts, stabbing another cheese cube.

“Yeah, I’m sure you and - - what was his name again? Dan?”

“Dean.”

“Dean, right,” Heather says, and there’s a faraway tone to her voice now, something that Beth remembers from too many nights, too many school functions, too many long nights out with Ruby and Annie. Heather huffs, shakes her head. “I’m sure you guys did too.”

She pauses, glancing sideways at Beth.

“I haven’t seen him at any of these things lately.”

And briefly, Beth does consider the lie. The one she tells everyone else – that Dean lives too far away, that he’s so busy, that it’s better if the kids just go on the holidays, when Dean has time to plan things, when he can devote himself entirely to them, but then, that doesn’t seem fair.

“He’s actually about to get married again.”

Heather clicks her tongue.

“There it is. She a baby?”

“A few years younger, yes.”

“They’re all the same,” Heather tells her, then nods over towards Rio, who’s pretty clearly reaching the end of his tether with Andy if the tight crinkle of the skin around his eyes is anything to go by. “That’s why you keep him the stepdad, right? Don’t make him a dad again. Keep him looking at you the way he looks at you.”

She grins a little wryly, nudges Beth with her elbow.

“Keep his hand on your ass.”

With that, Heather looks back down at the spread of cheese cubes, emptying the crackers into a bowl beside them, and Beth can’t help but look back over at Rio, something in her clenching strangely. She swallows, hand tightening in the rag, feeling - - weird, more than anything. After a minute, she turns back to Heather, opening her mouth to say something, what, she has no idea, when Heather looks up across the gymnasium, her gaze catching on something that makes her lips part.

“Oh, look at your little girl! Is she okay?”

The words are enough to cut through Beth’s thoughts, to jerk her head up, eyes searching the crowd of children before latching onto Emma, seeing her frozen, a few feet away from the wall, halfway to where Tyson Wu’s roughhousing with his friends, only to suddenly spin back around, beelining back to Willow at the wall.

And just - - it’s _there_, all over her little face. Her cheeks bright and pink, her eyes glassy, her posture stiff, and suddenly there are images flashing behind her eyes – of Emma on the art mat, playing with that sequin, pretending she didn’t really mind, or all those months ago, the look of shame on her face when Beth had found the book report she’d written for this boy in her backpack, and Rio telling her it was _only a crush_, and it’s _more than that _with Emma. It _always _is.

“Excuse me,” Beth says to Heather, tossing the rag in the trash and striding out towards her daughter, her red dress swaying around her hips as she goes, and she sees it, the exact moment Emma sees her coming, her cheeks flushing darker, her head frantically shaking.

“No, _moooooom_,” she groans, and behind her Willow mumbles a _hi, Ms. Marks, _that makes Beth smile sweetly at her before refocusing on Emma. She bends forwards a little, enough she’s practically eye level with Emma, keeps her voice gentle as she says: 

“Hey, honey, I just wanted to make sure - -”

But Emma won’t let her speak, is shaking her head so furiously that her hair starts to fall out of her twist, and Beth reaches out a hand to tuck it back in, only to have Emma stumble back away from her, jerking her hair away from her.

“_No_, mom, _please_, go look after Jane and Marcus, I’m _fine_, I don’t need to be _checked _on like a - -”

Which is ridiculous, she’s not _checking on her_, she’s just - -

“Emma, honey - -”

And Emma’s eyes widen, bright and blue and glassy like she might cry, gaze darting, and she’s all eyelashes like she was when she was even smaller, her hands trembling, as she grounds her feet, and maybe Beth can take her home, can take her out for ice cream, can put on _The Little Mermaid _and maybe she’s saying it out loud, because then - - 

“MOM!”

It’s said so loud, so sharp, that Beth’s mouth snaps shut.

Around them, a few of the other kids peer to look at them, and it’s Willow who bounds forwards, tells them to _take a picture, weirdoes_, as she tries to get them to disperse, and Emma blinks rapidly, her little chest heaving.

“You’re embarrassing me,” she whispers. “I’m not a baby anymore.”

And Beth knows that, of course she knows that. She’s almost twelve after all, and she feels her own chest flush, feels her mouth dry, her gaze darting out to see the mortification naked on her daughter’s face, and this has happened with Kenny before, even Danny, but she thought Emma had wanted her to be a part of this, had been so happy when she’d done her hair, had picked out hers and Rio’s outfits for god’s sake, but - -

But she also hadn’t wanted her to know about Tyson being her Valentine, and maybe picking their outfits had been more about making sure they didn’t _embarrass her, _since apparently she was so good at that. Beth shifts her weight, tries to bite back the sting.

“Okay, well, I’ll just be over there if you need me,” she says, and Emma nods, a sharp jerk of her chin, twisting away from her back to Willow, and it’s a dismissal, Beth thinks. Clearing her throat a little, and turning back on her heel, keeping her gaze fixed on Heather to stop herself from meeting Rio’s gaze, or Annie’s, both which she can feel tight on her, because it’s fine, she reminds herself. It’s normal.

Emma’s just growing up.

(And it’s normal, too, for that to hurt).

“So,” Beth says as she reaches Heather’s side, painting on a smile, looking for a distraction. “Tell me more about Eric.”

*

“When’s this thing supposed to finish?” Rio drawls, leaning back into the wall, his eyes half-lidded as he watches a few of the boys take the floor and spring up into one of those Fortnite dances, and god, Beth wishes she lived in a world where she didn’t know what that was.

“Half an hour,” she says with a sigh, watching Danny on the bleachers, drawing on a napkin, Kenny sprawled out beside him, playing games on his phone. She pointedly doesn’t let her gaze drift back to Emma, who she knows is still stuck on the wall, clutching her little purse.

The night really is starting to drag.

Beth had given up on Heather not long after getting back to her, feeling strange about probing into the other woman’s life when she had seemingly been able to read Beth’s so clearly, and when she’d left Heather to her (maybe) flirtations with Eric, Rio hadn’t been long to follow, grumbling something about Andy being some ‘white bread dumbass’ that had a grin twitching at Beth’s lips before she could help it.

The music trills as the DJ spins to a new track – something a little slower this time that at least has the Fortnite dancers disbanding with a groan, and Beth lets her gaze slip sideways to where Rio’s still looking out at the crowd, the point of his nose sharp, his expression neutral, schooled, until Marcus and Jane tumble back into his line of sight. They’re giggling as Marcus puffs out his chest, bows deep to Jane, who responds with some elaborate _talk to the hand _gesture until Marcus practically bounds into her, trapping her into some fancy, spinning dance that has them both cackling, and Rio breathes out a laugh that takes her own breath away and just - -

Would he look like that?

If it was one they had together?

Would it be different? Like Heather had said. Would he start to see her like Dean had?

And - - _stupid_, she thinks. She doesn’t want another child. Wants to draw this line now, but she sees them, sees _him_, and it’s just - -

She swallows thickly, shifts her weight, groping for something in her head to change the subject, and she thinks Emma, but - - god, no (her chest tightens before she can help it), so instead she thinks: dance.

“You know how many more of these we have?” she offers, and no, she thinks, blinking hard, she was supposed to be pulling the conversation _away _from parenting, not towards it. Still though, Rio blanches in a way she thinks he’s put on to make her laugh, before he rocks his head against the wall back towards her.

“We ain’t even started on proms yet,” he tells her dryly, and Beth laughs, her nose wrinkling.

“Do you think Emma will be better or worse with all of this stuff by then?”

Which, god, she wanted to get the conversation away from Emma too, but Rio levels her with such a deadpan look that Beth can only laugh, something in her lightening for a change. She’s still in the throes of it when Annie strides up to them, her eyebrows halfway up to her hairline and her look amused.

“What did I miss?”

And it’s a _lot, _Beth thinks, knowing she’ll at least have to elaborate on Emma’s rejection of her at some point with Annie and Ruby, but right now, none of it feels worth getting into. Instead, she waves a hand out, before taking Annie back in, because, huh - -

“What did _we_?” she asks, voice dry as she wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t feel like she’s seen Annie in at least twenty minutes, and the look on her face is a little concerning. “Where have you been?”

It’s enough for Annie to roll her look back, for her eyebrows to raise, her expression to sort of - - _sprawl _in that way that it does when she has a story to tell and none of them have any context, and god, Beth thinks, schooling her own look as she feels Rio exhale beside her – attune enough to Annie at this point to pick up on the same.

“Well, dear sister,” Annie hums, stepping between them. “Do I have a story for you.”

Beth rolls her eyes, gestures a hand forwards, because can it really be that much? Now? Under the circumstances? A middle school dance being, well, a middle school dance? Still, Annie leans over, delighted, as she lurks all the closer, and - - _hmmm_, Beth thinks, squinting slightly at her sister. Before she can even open her mouth to consider responding though, Annie schools her look into something faux-neutral and adds:

“Because, uhhh, I just got hit up for a threesome at your kids’ fancy ass middle school dance.”

It’s immediate, the disgust, but somehow it’s even more immediate, more _present_, the way Beth’s head jerks up, the way she seeks Rio out across Annie, the way his look is there to meet her, his expression serious but his eyes bright, the memory of their bet back at the fore, but still, it’s Beth who asks it.

“Who?”

“I don’t know!” Annie says with a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest and tossing out a hip. “A couple of freaks. Some dude with glasses and some lady who kept talking about sea animals.”

And Rio looks at Beth, and _no_, Beth thinks, something in her stuttering, it’s not - -

Not _Andy and_ _Vanessa_.

Before she can help it, her gaze darts out, looking for Heather, and she’s only halfway through skimming the rest of the parents when she fixes on a twist of dark hair and a set of pale cheeks, and just - -

Just it’s _Emma_, striding purposefully across the floor towards Tyson Wu, her dress flowing behind her as she tugs her purse to her chest, pulling out the card she’d made at home. She holds it then, in delicate, trembling hands, and vaguely Beth can hear Annie and Rio bickering behind her, can hear them debating the proposition, the offer, the rejection, and Beth waves a hand out, her gaze fixed, watching Emma close the distance between her and Tyson Wu.

And she does.

She gets there.

She stops.

She raises her head.

Beth can’t hear what her daughter says, but still - - she sees her smile, speak, sees her extend the arm clutching the card, and she sees Tyson take it.

Sees him look at the cover, open it up, and god, she can see Emma talking, see her fidget, play with the strap of her bag, her eyes fixed and unblinking, then blinking too much, and Tyson keeps staring and he looks at Emma like he might say something, anything, and then, like it’s nothing at all, Paxton pounces onto Tyson’s back, the smaller boy lurching forwards beneath his friend’s weight, almost crashing into Emma, but he doesn’t.

He stops their path.

Grins – something dart quick and honest – throwing Paxton off his back and thrusting the card back at Emma, spinning on his heel to launch at Paxton’s back instead, running back off across the gymnasium and just - -

Beth can’t breathe.

All she can see is Emma’s red face, her glassy eyes, the tremble of her little body as she pulls the card back into her chest, and - - and - - she starts to move towards her, but remembers what Emma had said, about embarrassing her, and - -

“Oh my god, _that _guy!!” Annie says suddenly, and Beth jerks her head around in time to see Andy step out – visibly dishevelled from the hallway – Vanessa on his heels, and her gaze flicks back to Rio, ready for his smug grin, but he’s gone.

She reels her gaze out, searching across the crowd, and finds him too easily, striding on a one-way course to Emma, and he doesn’t pick her up like he’d done with Jane, but instead tilts his neck, leaning down, offering a hand, and then it’s instant.

The way Emma collapses into his middle, wrapping her hands around his waist as Rio starts to sway them, starts to move them easily, earnestly, openly against the gymnasium floor. One of his arms comes up behind her, pulling her close, while the other makes quick work of plucking the card out of her hands, disappearing it into the back of his pants only to dance with her properly, and maybe an Od really is a Valentine, Beth thinks.

(Maybe Heather is right, because she couldn’t imagine this ever happening with Dean).

*

So they dance.

One dance and then another, Rio shortening his stride to match Emma’s as he takes her around the dance floor, spins her, grinning toothily, beneath his arm. And then it’s another, with Willow this time too, and maybe Emma even lets Beth join the fourth, lets Kenny lead the fifth, lets the moment dress her up and smooth away the wrinkles, and Beth feels light on her feet when Rio grabs her hand, when he pulls her close, fingers bunching in the waist of her dress, his breath warm against the side of her face, beard scratching, as he leans in even closer.

And it’s almost too soon now, when it’s over.

The music slowing to a quiet stop as the gymnasium lights replace the mood lighting and they’re being coaxed out by tired eyed teachers with aching feet, and Beth doesn’t have to wrangle anyone but Annie, who’s still letting Marcus and Jane tug her around. They load them all up into the minivan while Annie promises strawberry ice cream and movies at least half of them are too young for, but that’s not their problem tonight, Beth thinks, letting Rio slip her away across the parking lot, away for the night.

And there’s something about it all. About the thick black sky above them and the chatter of families going home, the headlights of other people’s cars leaving a narrow, twin glow that lights their way, and Beth spins, walking backwards so that she can look at Rio, looking at her. Her step slows beneath the weight of his gaze, her breath hitching as she feels his eyes drag down her body, and it’s not so hot yet, but there’s something there (always is), enough that she reaches a hand out, curling it beneath his tie, only clutching it when she feels her ass hit Annie’s car door.

The slip of fabric is warm in her fist from so long laid at his chest, and she smiles coyly, using it to pull him closer. To coax him in.

“Happy Valentine’s,” she hums, and Rio grins down at her, stepping closer, enough to crowd her back into the door of Annie’s car. Like this, she can feel him, the long, slim, strong line of his body, the way he tilts his head, the smell of his cologne making her feel a little drunk on him already, and Beth’s about to say thank you, she _is_, for all of it, when Rio’s gaze heats playfully and his tongue darts out.

“I’ll be expectin’ those papers on my desk tonight, Miss Marks,” he purrs, and Beth feels a hot flush roll through her body as he sinks his hips slightly against hers, but just - - god, she can’t explain it. The stranger feeling she gets with his words. The way they make her instantly hot, and instantly taut with tension, some red hot want tampered by just - - god - - the memory of the last time, her playing a part that only embarrasses her, and tonight feels too good, too sweet, and she doesn’t want to lose this feeling, so she just says: 

“No,” loading a laugh into her voice, holding the hand not tangled up in his tie to his mouth – to silence him or stop him from kissing her, she’s not sure. She rolls her eyes, still smiling, at his confused look. “Come on, that was a joke.”

Which - -

Had it been?

(_No_, she knows that much, but she hadn’t expected to _lose_.)

It’s enough to make Rio lean his head back, to grab her wrist, tug her hand gently away from his face. He squints at her, forehead furrowing, eyes darting over her face, before he huffs, rolls his shoulders back.

“A joke,” he says, nodding slowly down at her as he drops her wrist. “And it would’ve been one if you’d won too, huh?”

Beth splutters, her fingers loosening in his tie, because _no_, that’s not what she meant, and she rolls her eyes, tries to load her tone with the joke of it all.

“Well, I mean technically we don’t know if I lost,” she says. “Andy and Vanessa might have been - - ”

She flails a hand out, and Rio just looks amused. And unamused, his jaw rocking forwards as his brow furrows. He shakes his head a little.

“You don’t want to do it now? It was your idea.”

“No, it’s not - - ” Beth flounders again. Does she not want to do it? God, it’s not - - it’s just the night, she thinks. Heather’s words, and Emma, and still, again, the memory of _last _time, the kneejerk reaction of wanting to boss _him _around, instead of the other way around, and Rio wets his lips, seeming to work out how he wants to play it, when finally he says:

“Okay.”

He shrugs, plucking the car keys from Beth’s fingers, and nudging her out of the way. He pulls open the door to Annie’s car – blanching in the way he always does at the strewn takeout packets and the thick smell of weed, before slipping in and Beth just - - blinks.

“What?”

“You don’t wanna do it, we won’t do it,” Rio tells her, jerking his head for her to get in, and Beth rounds the car, slipping into the passenger seat, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it doesn’t – when he just starts up the car, pulling them out of the parking lot towards home, Beth shifts her weight, feeling - - strange.

Her eyes dart sideways, watching as Rio taps his fingers against the steering wheel, the streetlights casting shadows across his face, and she bites the inside of her cheek, unable to name the feeling in her chest.

“Do _you_ not want to do it?” she asks, before she can help herself, and Rio huffs out a little laugh, shaking his head, before glancing sideways at her.

“You think I’m the type out there gamblin’ for fun? Nah, it’s ai’ght. You get in over your head sometimes. I know that. Write cheques you can’t cash.”

Beth blinks, something sharp spiking in her chest.

“Excuse me?”

And then it’s Rio who blinks, lazy this time, unbothered.

“Yeah? What am I excusin’ you for?”

Which - - okay. Beth sits up a little straighter, and it’s not like there’s a challenge in his tone, in his look, but he doesn’t get to throw out her not following things through like it’s at _all _true. She always follows through, has to – for too long, her word was all she had.

“You think I can’t do it. I can do it.”

Rio huffs out a breath.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just offerin’ you the out.”

And it’s placating, gentle, but she can hear it now, and she knows - - _knows _\- - he’s baiting her, that he has her hooked, but two can play at that game.

“You want me to play secretary, I can play secretary.”

In fact, she’ll make him rue the day he ever _wanted _her to play secretary.

Rio rolls his eyes.

“Do whatever you wanna do, yeah? I gotta finish this shit for Shiv when we get home anyway.”

*

And okay, Beth thinks, biting her lip as she stares down at her underwear drawer. Just - -

Okay.

Tugging her dress off and slipping out of her panties, her bra, Beth grabs one of the sexier sets in her wardrobe – a black mesh set with brightly coloured flours embroidered into the fabric – along with the tight pencil skirt from the failed teacher roleplay, and then stands, squinting at her wardrobe. She could wear a blouse. One Rio knows well, one he could rip off her or know to remove carefully, or - -

Huh.

She could wear something a little more complicated.

With a grin, Beth pulls out one of the most elaborate shirts she owns – something she’d bought on a whim but never worn – that hooks at the bust and then ties in an elaborate bow at the waist. It takes her minutes, not seconds to even get it on, wrangling the design of it to her body, and then she touches up her hair, her make-up, looks at herself in the mirror, and just - -

She looks good, she thinks. Knows she does, and there’s something hot dipping through her as she tucks her hair behind her ear, as she thinks about Rio with her at the dance, present for all of it, as she thinks about his hand on her ass and then Heather’s words, and the thing is, she’d known what the other woman was talking about when she’d said that you become their mother too, had felt it too often with Dean, and just - -

She’s never felt like Rio’s mother.

_Never would_, she thinks furiously, and well. 

The image of him tonight flashes through her head – of Rio dancing with her daughter, of him catching her little heart before it could hit the floor, of him _paying attention_, to Jane, to Marcus, to _her_, and she bites her lip, and thinks - -

Maybe tonight she really can play at being his secretary.

Get him open mouthed and panting, just for her.

Something hot and playful and honest sparks deep in her, and she grabs a pen from her purse, drops it behind her ear, and smooths her skirt over her hips before striding out of their bedroom, over towards their office, and it only burns brighter when she slips in and sees him behind his desk.

She knows he knows she’s there, even if he hasn’t looked up from his laptop yet, the reading glasses she’d finally convinced him he needed perched on his nose. He’s still in the blue shirt, the navy tie, slacks that Emma had picked out, but he’s pulled his bracelets off his wrists, the hair ties he keeps on them for the girls gone too, knowing he won’t need them again tonight.

The clack of his fingers across the keyboard echoes in Beth’s ears, and she pauses just inside the door, watching him carefully, waiting for his attention. Which he gives her after a minute, slipping off his glasses and closing his laptop, tilting his head. His gaze drops down, catching her outfit, and his lips twitch in a way that makes her heart stutter before it makes her _clench_.

She clears her throat.

“The deal with Shiv’s confirmed?” she asks, and Rio makes a noise of affirmation, but offers little else as Beth finally crosses the room, her heels clipping on the polished floor as she slides their planner off the desk, pulls the pen she’d carefully placed behind her ear and poises it at the week’s page.

“Okay, well, that means Sunday we have you booked across the border to be working on the negotiations for the broader Michigan deal,” she says, gaze darting up to catch Rio nod, his jaw still tight – never comfortable entirely with her knowing so much – and something in her shifts a little happily at that, because they’re partners in this too (even if he doesn’t always like it). She drops her focus back down to the planner, and - - well. She actually _can _pencil this stuff in: “I’ve organised the staffing for the ten extra cars, as you requested, and have arranged for the drop off of the - - _parcel _\- - at Monroe. I’ll be handling that one myself, of course, but you know that I’m always available by cell, Mr. Velasquez.”

She smiles at him, a little too sweetly, even as something a little annoyed in her sparks too, because she actually _has _done all of this stuff, and she knows he will be handling negotiations out in Atwood while she what? Drops a car in Monroe? But - - no, she reminds herself. The Monroe drop is important too. He’d wanted to do that himself, after all. She stands up a little straighter, flicks her hair back over her shoulder, watching him take her in, shrouded now in something close to amusement, waiting to see how this plays out.

“I’ve organised the club for your children - -”

“Oh, _you’ve _organised that?” he interrupts, popping an eyebrow and leaning slightly forwards in his seat, and Beth’s cheeks burn. “Okay.”

She glowers at him, because god, this is the last time all over again. God forbid he let anything slide. She sniffs, shifting her weight, the planner in her arms. Her eyes dart sideways, and - - huh.

“And booked the restaurant for the family for your sister’s birthday in two weeks.”

It’s a jab, and he knows it, because she _has _organised that, and she feels a swell of satisfaction when Rio purses his lips as if to say _touché_.

“Sounds like you’re across it,” he drawls, voice low, but honest, and maybe she can’t help it, the smile that crosses her face when she sees the one that crosses his. Glancing down, she writes Monroe in for Sunday, her mind working through what else there is to say about all of this that would feed into this fantasy. Her gaze pauses again on Monroe, on the job she has to do, and the question forms easier than it should.

“What are we charging Mr. Shiv for the extra cars we’re handling for him? I just need to take the figure to accounts.”

“Oh, the figure, huh?”

The way he says it, voice somehow both loaded and cloying, makes Beth glance up, and he must’ve waited for that, because he drags his gaze down her body, like she’s wearing anything _but _this ludicrous shirt, like she’s wearing nothing at all, and Beth shivers, feeling the flimsy lace of her panties dampen, and _no_, she thinks. It can’t be _that_ easy for him.

She twists sideways, just enough to rest her ass just so on the hardwood desk in front of him, her already tight pencil skirt straining, and she feels Rio’s eyes drop to it, and she waits for him to scoot forwards in his seat, waits for him to reach for her across it, to yank her up and over the desk, drag her across everything on top of it towards him – and she stands up again, striding further away from him.

Rio huffs.

And, god, Beth can’t help it. She grins a little, something sparking hot when she sees Rio clock it, his lips sucking in as he falls back into his seat. His hands find the arms of his chair, drumming his fingers there quietly in the way she knows means he’s working through scenarios in his head, and it just feels too good, to have him already like this.

“Mr. Velasquez?” she asks, voice high and breathy, just to bring it home – she widens her eyes, innocent and enquiring – just to see his legs part, just a little. “The figure?”

Rio stares back at her, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth a little tight, and in the end, he shrugs, nonchalant.

“We’re chargin’ him the usual.” 

Which - - _what?_

That can’t be right, Beth thinks, because when does Rio ever miss an opportunity to charge interest? (Really, when do either of them these days?) Beth blinks back at him, jerks her chin back, and Rio does that weird thing with his mouth like he’s preparing for her, but god, she can’t help it.

“The usual?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “To do him a favour?”

Rio grunts in affirmation, and Beth frowns.

“No extra cost,” she says, clarifying, and Rio rolls his eyes.

“Ain’t that what _the usual_ means?”

Which is frankly rude, Beth thinks, pushing out her hip and pursing her lips back at him. She pushes their planner out enough to gesture at him with it.

“So we’re getting nothing out of this except losing a weekend.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Rio - -” she starts, voice thick with irritation, and it’s sudden then, the crack of his hand against the hardwood of the desk.

It’s enough to startle her, enough to tear something just - - _hot _through her, and he sees it, she knows he sees it, (knows he _knows _it, has since that stupid day with the stupid tire iron at Boland Motors, what this does to her) as he splays his fingers against the desk, his voice somehow both soft and firm as he says: 

“Mr Velasquez, Miss Marks.”

Her breath is caught along with any words in her throat. Like he’s laid a trap for them, and just - - god, she stares at him, wet lipped and dry mouthed, the heat in her low, as he watches her, his gaze darting down her body again like he _knows_.

His tongue darts out.

“Take off your shirt.”

And just - - her jaw squares, her shoulders too.

“No.”

And they both stare at each other for a moment, the air crackling between them, and just like that, Rio leans back in his chair, laughing a little to himself, and Beth can’t help it too, the grin that twitches at her own lips.

In the hall, the central heating suddenly roars again to life, chasing off the February chill, the thrum of it a welcome sound to break the quiet without the kids here to destroy it for them, and it’s all Beth can do to lean into it a little. She lets herself watch him, watch her, watches him raise a hand to smooth down his thin, navy tie.

“He knows he owes us,” Rio says after a minute, voice low. “Big. I’m gonna bank it, and cash it later, yeah? When I need a favour.”

“_We_,” Beth corrects instinctively, and Rio rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch in a grin.

“We,” he agrees, and it’s offered honestly, just richly enough, and it’s not right, how hot it sounds in her ears, how much it stirs something in her, because they are a _we_ now, even if it’s not something that comes naturally to either of them, and the fact that they are, that they’ve gotten here - -

Beth wets her lips, closes the planner and drops it to the top of the bookshelf in the corner. She plays a little with her sash, stepping back into secretary mode as she spins on the spot, swinging her hips as she strides over to the bar cart.

“Let me get you a drink. You’ve had a _long _day,” she says, and she bends over when she gets to it, feeling her skirt stretch across her ass as she does it, knowing the view she’s giving him. She can feel his gaze on her like his hand at the dance, big and hot, and something in her tightens warmly as she grabs two glasses out, pouring them both a bourbon, before she moves back towards him, around the desk this time, to be on the same side of it as him.

She offers him his drink, and Rio takes it, clinking it gently with hers as he takes a sip, looking up at her. It’s too easy to take him in then, to let her eyes travel over his face, to the high collar of his shirt, the tattoo peaking out above it. The knot of his tie sits just below his Adam’s apple, and the latter bobs as he swallows in a way that makes her want to run her teeth across it, and maybe it’s too early for that still, but she drops her hand to the knot on his tie, straightens it a little, as she has a drink herself.

“I like it when we’re a team,” she says, and she makes her voice coy, too sweet, to make it a part of the game, even if - - god, she _means _it, and Rio makes a noise in the back of his throat, finishing off his bourbon and dropping the glass back to the desk as he leans closer, his big hand sliding up her thigh.

“Like you on my desk like this,” he purrs, and the urge to spread her legs for him is close to instinctual, but also maybe she’s enjoying this a little too much. She finishes her own drink, pushes up off the desk, out of reach, playing innocent.

“Another?” she offers, starting back towards the bar cart, and she sees it this time, the moment that his patience shatters, and she’s ready for his hand against the table again, the firm clap of it, or for him to chase her (she’s always liked making him come to her), and she can’t quite bite back the grin when she sees him start to do the latter.

“Okay,” he growls, up from his chair now, and she dances back playfully, but when he grabs her, she goes happily, enjoying the strength in his arms as he hauls her towards him, dragging her with him as he sits heavily back down. The feel of his bony legs under her is always enough to make her grin, and she’s ready to get comfortable, to pivot to straddle him, when suddenly he doesn’t sit her in his lap, but tugs her face-first across it and she’s about to twist up, when he pulls his arm back and smacks her ass – _hard_.

She yelps, jerking backwards, hand reaching behind her, but Rio grabs her wrist, pushes it back down, and suddenly there’s a gust of cool air at the back of her legs as he somehow shoves up this ridiculously tight skirt and then tears her panties off. And then - -

_Smack! _

Beth gasps again, feeling heat flood her face as she flails a hand behind her again, only - -

_Smack! _

Only it’s impossible, how tightly she clenches, how quickly the heat in her has dipped low, the wetness between her legs has pooled, as the sharp clap of his hand on her ass rings in her ears, her skin, and it’s not that they haven’t done this before, but not quite like _this_.

“Rio!” she gasps, and his hand stills, dips between her legs, feels how wet she is, and he hums, trails his fingers through her folds, and Beth’s blinking rapidly, her breath briefly lost, and too hoarse, too loud, when she _does _find it, and she grips at his knee with one hand, his sharp hip with another as she feels him lean down over her.

“You like that?” he asks, his voice low, fingers warm between her legs, and Beth blinks again, lips parted, and she twists her neck around to see him, and the look on his face tells her he knows she does, can feel it, and her ass is still smarting and just - - still. He waits for her nod, the sharp jerk of her chin, and when his hand smacks her ass cheek this time, she cants her hips back to meet it.

She cries out, because it hurts, but in such a _good _way, and her grip scrambles at his knee, and it’s almost too much already, when Rio sinks his head low, nips at her ear, says:

“You gonna take your shirt off this time, Miss Marks?”

And Beth’s eyelashes flutter open wetly (when had she even closed them?), and when she doesn’t answer right away, his hand comes down again – once, twice – smarting on either ass cheek.

She clenches, can feel herself _dripping _now, and she keens when Rio smooths his hand over her ass, dips low again, cupping her throbbing cunt.

“Elizabeth, come on now,” he purrs, and Beth swallows thickly, nodding, and she tries to get up, but he doesn’t let her, holding her where she is instead, dipping a finger just _so _inside her while he does, and Beth moans. “Yeah, you don’t need to get up yet, but you gonna take that blouse off.”

And right, Beth thinks, feeling his hand disappear only to smack down hard on her ass again, sending her teetering forwards in his lap, and she can feel his cock, hard underneath her, sticking up against her belly, and she makes sure to brush it as she lowers her trembling hand to the knot on the sash of her shirt.

And it had been fun, the thought of him struggling with it, but god, she wishes she’d gone with her first instinct now, something easy to tear off, as her fingers make awkward work with the bow, her skirt caught up around her waist and her panties on the floor, and it just - - she can’t get it _off_.

She whimpers, feeling him grow impatient above her, her fingers twitching, and he spanks her again, and she gasps, arching back, but now her fingers can’t find the knot again, and she’s starting to wriggle on him awkward in her frustration, because this stupid _shirt _and vaguely she feels him lean forwards above her towards the desk, and she doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s pushing her hands away.

She hears it before she realises what’s happening, the _schink _of scissors, cutting through the fabric, and then the bow is on the floor, her shirt gaping open, and his other hand reaching underneath her to rip the blouse open at the neck, the tiny metal hooks shattering across the floor beneath them.

Flailing her arms backwards, she awkwardly helps Rio pull it off her, and then just as quickly undoes her bra, letting it fall to the floor beneath them, and she’s not sure what she’s expecting next, but it’s not for him to toss the scissors back onto the desk – the metallic clatter loud in her ears – as he pushes her head down and draws a smooth, slow line from it down her naked back. His hand feels hot, tart almost with how he’d spanked her, his rings warm from his skin or hers, she has no idea, but she squirms when his hand finds her ass again, squeezing it just hard enough she whimpers, pushing forwards a little, relishing a little in the way he sucks in a breath when she presses her belly down against his hard cock.

It’s enough to make him dip his hand lower, to ghost over her cunt again, and he laughs.

“Shit, mami,” his voice is deep with lust, curls in her ears, as he trails his fingers against her wetness, tracing patterns with it into the very tops of her thighs. She shivers, squirms, and finally he clasps his hand down on her upper thigh, just below her ass, and heaves her off him.

She’s expecting him to push her back against their desk, but he doesn’t, instead lowers her to sit on the floor at his feet, between his parted legs, and right - - Beth thinks, eye level now with the hard line of his cock, straining against his slacks. She licks her lips, the memory of the brief fantasy from earlier in the night springing to mind again, can already feel the familiar weight of him on her tongue, only when she reaches a hand for his belt buckle, he bats her hand away.

“Nuh, not that,” he tells her, and Beth blinks up at him, surprised, watching as his gaze darts across her face, then down over her naked breasts. He sucks in his lips, nods. “Touch yourself.”

It comes as an order, uncompromising, and Beth rankles even as she feels the heat in her spool. She opens her mouth to say something – what, she doesn’t know, only to have Rio shift, pushing a foot between her legs and kicking them apart, before planting his leg back beside her.

“C’mon,” he says, impatient, dropping his hand to his crotch and briefly cupping himself, and Beth rolls her eyes, drops a hand between her own legs and slowly starts to work her fingers at her clit.

And just - - god, she really is so wet already. The sharp sting of his hand on her ass burning up in her memories already, searing there, and she knows it’ll be red when she sees it, can already picture the tiny purple bar bruises from his rings, and the thought makes her tremble, makes her circle her clit a little rougher.

His grip on her - - it’d been so strong. Always is. The way he can just - -

Her eyes snap open – god, when did she _close _them – when she feels his fingers ghost over her nose, her lips parting as he moves his hand to cup her cheek, and then he slips his thumb in her mouth. Beth shivers, adjusting a little on the ground, slipping a finger into her cunt, and Rio hums happily above her, fucking gently into her mouth with his thumb. She closes her mouth around it, sucking roughly in a way that makes him groan, makes him palm at himself through his pants, rock his hips off the chair, his thighs, until Beth reaches out her free hand to splay on his thigh, pushing him down into the chair.

He laughs, breathless above her, pulling his thumb out of her mouth, replacing it with two of his long fingers instead, crooking heavily against her tongue. Beth keens, works her fingers a little deeper, thumbing at her clit, and god, she’s already so _close_, so near to the edge, her orgasm just starting to crest, when suddenly Rio’s fingers are out of her mouth, and he’s grabbing both her arms, yanking them up and away from herself, away from him too.

Beth blinks, confused, when suddenly Rio moves his leg from her side, placing it between her parted legs, foot nudging at her, and she stares wildly, before she realizes exactly what it is he’s asking, and she just - - sees _red_.

“I’m not going to - - _hump your leg_,” she hisses furiously up at him, and Rio laughs, shrugs, as if to say _worth a try_, before reaching down to pull her back up into his lap again, bringing her to straddle him in the chair. She’s still finding her jelly legs when he sucks her nipple into his mouth, wet and hot, and just - - _god_.

She moans before she can help it, still prickly with her almost-orgasm, practically collapsing down onto his face, trapping his head between her breast and the back of the chair, and he laughs against her, reaching behind her to grab her still-stinging ass hard, holding her in place.

That warm, wet feeling is replaced too quickly by the bristle of his beard, the cold tip of his nose, and Beth shivers, arches away from him as his hot breath makes it’s way up her chest.

“You gonna wear somethin’ a little tighter for me next time, Miss Marks?” he purrs, and Beth blinks wetly down at him. “Hmmm. Maybe somethin’ lower. Somethin’ I can look down next time you bendin’ over?”

She clenches before she can help it, adjusting her weight over him, dipping her naked crotch to grind down against his covered one.

“You’re the boss,” she says, voice too sweet again, and she means it as a joke, but she feels his cock twitch under her, and before she can help it, she’s grinding down harder. “You know me, I always do whatever you want.”

It’s enough to make him bark on a laugh, and Beth can’t help but grin, even as he shoves her up, pushing her back into the desk and surging up after her. He grabs her under her thighs, pushing her up onto the edge of the desk, just enough her feet are off the floor, and she hooks her legs around him as he positions himself between them, freeing his cock from his slacks and rubbing the head of it against her entrance.

“Whatever I want, huh?” he drawls, and Beth looks up at him through her lashes, grabs his shoulder with one hand, his tie with the other, and grips them tight as he pushes into her.

It’s so familiar, the way he stretches her, the shape of him inside her, the way he makes her feel so full, so whole, so _good_, and her eyes roll back a little as he groans into her neck, sucking at the spot just beside her jugular, then up, nipping her throat, her chin, before kissing her.

It’s Beth who groans then, nails digging into his shoulder as he starts to fuck her, setting a fast, tempo, a rough, perfect pace that has her clenching around him. Her bruised ass aches as it bounces against the desk, as she knocks over a pen holder, feels the cool metal of his laptop, but the pain of it somehow makes everything hotter, sharper, more in focus, and god, she’s so wet, can feel her cunt moist around him, and she drops her hand from his tie to circle her clit, only to have him smack it away, which - -

Beth blinks her eyes back open, glares at him, drops her hand again, and Rio smacks it away again, a grin sharp and wide on his face, and this time when she grabs his tie again, she yanks it. She can see where the tie pinches, where his neck muscles strain, and he opens his mouth, panting as his hips stutter, and she pulls a little harder, seeing him gasp, rasp, and she pants as she feels him edge closer, tightening her grip in his tie only to have him jerk back.

He grins, sharkish as he sucks in a breath, yanking his tie from her grip, and undoing it with a practiced hand, and Beth’s still raising her hands back to his shoulders when he grabs them instead, binding them together with his tie, and she clenches, _hard_, as he finishes securing them. He tosses her wrists behind his head, hooking them there and before she can pant out any sort of insult or tease, he’s kissing her.

His mouth on hers is not something she thinks she’ll ever get over, ever stop wanting, needing, _enjoying_, and she kisses him back, rocking her hips to meet his thrusts, arching her breasts into his chest, feeling her pebbled nipples rub against the soft cotton of his shirt, and Rio groans again, panting wet into her mouth.

It’s only then that he drops his hand between them again, finding her clit too easily, too perfectly, and he fucks into her and circles her clit and it’s so quick, how he pulls her over the edge, and she’s still writhing as he keeps up the pressure, the rough pad of his finger familiar in the way it walks the map of her, knows it by heart, and it’s too much, it _is, _but it’s not enough either, never, with him.

And right as she topples over the edge of her orgasm, he thrusts deep into her, finishing in a way that makes them both moan, and then - -

Then time finally seems to slow.

Her senses remember her. Find her again. Untangle her tangled limbs, thoughts, needs, and Rio pulls out, pushes himself back into his underwear, his slacks, not bothering to clean himself up yet, and flops back into the chair, and then he just - - stares at her for a minute.

And god, she really must be a sight, flushed and fucked out on his desk, that stupid skirt rolled up to her waist and her wrists still bound by his tie, and he just smiles at her, smug and happy and fucked out too, and maybe Beth can’t help it, the way she smiles back. 

Still, the moment passes, and she gestures to her wrists and Rio leans forwards in the chair, just enough to untie them, dropping the thin slip of fabric to the floor with her shirt and her panties. She shakes her hands out, and something about it has Rio smiling affectionately at her before he helps her down off the desk, onto her wobbly legs, and she goes to tug her skirt down, but before she has the chance to, Rio turns her around, pushes her back forwards, until she’s perched a little over the desk, his big hand smoothing down over her ass, and it’s weird, how quickly she thinks of Heather’s words at the dance, and just - -

God, Beth flushes, amused, this probably wasn’t what the other woman had in mind when she told her where to keep his hands.

She twists her neck back, looks at him over her shoulder, at his parted lips, his downcast eyes, watching himself drip out of her, and it reminds her of so long ago, of that very first time in that bathroom, and it’s not fair, how easily the memory splits her open, how quickly the thought finds her – that it’s been years, and that he still looks at her like that.

She swallows thickly, and Rio seems to hear it, because he helps her tug her skirt back down, and then presses himself to her back, hands coming up to cup her breasts even as he holds her to him.

“You liked that, huh?” he says, knowingly, and Beth rolls her eyes, her hands sliding over his on her breasts, as she says:

“_You _did.”

It only makes Rio laugh, kicking aside their clothes and moving them slightly around the desk, walking them out a little.

“Yeah, I liked it,” he says, and Beth shivers, turning in his arms to look at him, and it really is overwhelming, seeing his face so open, so honest, so playful and _young_. Her eyes drop down to where his neck is still a little red from where she’d yanked the tie, and she raises a hand to touch it, feeling his pulse flutter as she does it.

“Liked this too,” she hums, accusing, and Rio pops an eyebrow, a grin twitching at his lips as he suddenly pulls a hand back and smacks her ass, making her jump and yelp.

“While we talkin’ about the shit we liked,” he says, voice deep, and Beth can feel the heat rush down, and she’s not quite sure she’s ready to open that door again with him, no matter how much she really _had _liked it (no matter how hot it makes her, the thought of looking at the bruises later). But still, her eyes dart down, see his lips, wet from where he’s licked them, and - -

Well.

“You know what I’d like?” she says, hands coming up to smooth at his chest, and Rio arches an eyebrow. “For you to keep the promises you make me.”

And he pauses then, briefly confused, and Beth revels in it a little, shifting her weight as she pulls one of her hands up to his face, finger moving to tap at his plump lower lip.

“That card was awful, but promises were made.”

The sound of his laugh is not one she’ll ever stop loving either, she thinks, a smile catching as he throws his head back, as he edges in again, just a little closer.

“Oh, you cashin’ in, mama?”

And Beth shrugs, turning around in his arms and dipping down to pick her clothes up off the floor, because the thing is, tomorrow brings a lot – tomorrow brings the kids at home, and Laura picking up Marcus, and Emma’s new wound with Tyson and the old one with Dean, when they all remember he won’t be coming around, but, well. That’s tomorrow.

“Annie’s not dropping the kids until 11,” she tells. “And it _is _Valentine’s Day.”

Untangling from him, she walks out towards the door of the office, veering to grab the bottle of bourbon off the bar cart and pausing in the doorway to look back at him, still only in her skirt, her skin pink and her eyes bright. 

“You should bring the tie.”

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts on tumblr at pynkhues!


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